The Age Gap Shadow

The silence in the apartment had always been a fragile thing, a delicate peace that could shatter with a misplaced word or a too-loud sigh. But tonight, it felt heavier, thicker, weighted down by unspoken thoughts and the looming shadow of numbers. I traced the condensation ring my water glass had left on the polished wood of the coffee table, mesmerized by the tiny droplets that seemed to mirror the swirling confusion in my own head. Twenty-eight. Fifteen. The chasm between those two numbers felt vast, an ocean I wasn’t sure either of us knew how to cross.

San sat across from me, his usual relaxed posture replaced by a subtle tension. He was scrolling through his phone, but his eyes weren’t really focused on the screen. I could feel his gaze drift towards me every so often, a quick, almost furtive glance before snapping back to the illuminated rectangle in his hands. It was a dance we’d started doing recently, this hesitant observation, this silent acknowledgment of something shifting between us.

“Are you okay, Kim?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that, even after all these months, still sent a shiver down my spine.