These days, people rarely pay attention to silences unless they’re uncomfortable ones. Everyone wants noise, company, constant connection. No one stops to think that some of us prefer to breathe in the quiet.
And yet, somehow, this stranger—this man standing beside me, dripping rain onto his boots—saw it instantly.
It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
A woman's cheerful voice cuts through the wind. “Right, everyone! Let’s get moving before we freeze solid.”
The group begins to shuffle into motion, waterproofs crackling, boots squelching against the wet ground.
Aaron turns to me, his expression relaxed. “I’d better walk with you, if you don’t mind,” he says. “Just to keepthe ruse going. Wouldn’t want your ‘partner’ disappearing too quickly.”
A laugh catches in my throat, small but genuine. “Right. Of course.”
He adjusts his hood and adds, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts unless you feel like talking.”
That earns him a small nod. “Thank you.”
And just like that, we fall into step together.
The group spreads out along the muddy path, voices drifting ahead and behind. The wind whistles through the trees at the edge of the green, tugging at my hood and stinging my cheeks, but beside me, Aaron walks in quiet rhythm.
He doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t ask questions. Just matches his pace to mine, steady and unhurried, like he’s been doing it for years.
It’s oddly comforting. And as ridiculous as it sounds, for the first time all morning, the weather doesn’t feel quite so terrible.
We fall a little behind the group. Not because we’re slower, just because I’ve slipped into my usual rhythm, leaving a gap, giving space. I’ve always done it. It’s easier that way, not having to match anyone’s stride or feel obliged to talk.
Aaron doesn’t comment. He simply follows my lead, slowing with me as if he understands without needing it explained.
No one’s ever done that before.
The others are still within sight, a blur of bright jackets and movement ahead of us, their voices carried away by the wind. Behind them, it’s just us, the soft thud of ourboots on wet ground and the occasional call of a crow somewhere in the distance.
It’s strange. With most people, silence feels like a gap that needs filling, something to apologise for or patch up quickly before it turns uncomfortable. But not with him.
He walks quietly, content, lost in his own thoughts. No restless glances, no polite chatter to fill the air.
And somehow, that makes me curious.
It’s not that I want him to talk, I’m grateful he doesn’t, but there’s something about the way he carries himself that makes me wonder what he’s thinking. What sort of man can remain in complete silence and still seem entirely at ease?
I risk a quick glance at him, but his expression gives nothing away. Nothing at all.
And that, more than anything, draws me in.
I glance at him again, then look away just as quickly. It hits me that he doesn’t even know my name. He stepped in like some kind of silent knight in shining armour and hasn’t once asked who I am.
The thought makes me oddly self-conscious.
I clear my throat, barely loud enough to be heard over the wind. “Um… I just realised you don’t actually know my name.”
He turns his head slightly, his expression relaxed but attentive. “You’re right. I don’t.”
“I’m Eve,” I say, the words tumbling out awkwardly. “Eve Crawford.”
He nods once, as if filing it away properly. “Nice to meet you, Eve Crawford.”
I smile despite myself. “You don’t have to use both names.”
