Honesty Hour

The night air, usually so comforting and familiar, felt thick with a new kind of quiet as Katie and I lay side-by-side in our sleeping bags, the faint glow of the nightlight casting long shadows on the walls. The movie was over, the pizza boxes were stacked precariously in the kitchen, and the usual easy chatter that flowed between us seemed to have dried up, leaving an awkward silence in its place. It was the kind of silence that hummed with unspoken things, with the echoes of our argument and the realization that something had shifted between us.

I traced the pattern of the quilt with my finger, the soft cotton a stark contrast to the prickly feeling in my chest. I wanted to say something, anything, to break the tension, but the words felt lodged somewhere in my throat, heavy and unwilling to move. Katie shifted beside me, her breathing a little too loud in the stillness.

Finally, she whispered, her voice barely audible, “Sophia?”