I nod, soaking in both the sun and his presence. For some reason, the sky is more vibrant now, the orange tones deepening. It's beautiful, but the intensity makes me squint as if the colors are too much to take in at once.
“Are you sensitive to colors too?” he asks, his voice carrying something unspoken behind the words. The “too” reveals more than he probably intended.
I tilt my head toward him, curiosity piqued. “How did you know?”
Before answering, Silas props himself up on one elbow, closing the distance between us. Our proximity makes my heart race a little faster. “In school, you wore headphones all the time. You never went to parties unless they were outdoors, and you hated people with high-pitched voices—especially Kristi from English class,” he says, like he’s reciting a list he’s kept memorized for years.
My jaw drops. Silas Walker, of all people, had been watching. Ialways thought he was indifferent, too wrapped up in his own world to notice anyone else—especially me. “How?”
His sapphire eyes lock onto mine, a deep intensity in them. “You were the only interesting person at school,” he says like it’s an obvious fact that’s bothered him for a while.
I blink, processing that. “No one knew about my ... condition.”
“I know.” The silence that follows feels weighty, uncomfortable, until he speaks again. “How do you manage it now?”
“Better,” I admit, exhaling. “Thanks to therapy and hours of introspection. I’ve learned to function socially, but … there are still things I struggle with.”
“Like what?” The sun has fully risen now, casting long shadows over the city, but we’re still here, talking, wrapped up in each other’s words.
I pull my knees up to my chest, resting my elbow on them so I can prop my head in my hand. “Textures. I can’t wear just anything—it drives me crazy sometimes. And when I’m stressed, it’s hard to speak. I have to fight with myself constantly, just to avoid falling into a spiral.”
Silas frowns, his brow furrowed in confusion. “But ... I heard your voice the whole time yesterday.”
I nod, understanding his disbelief. “Yeah, I was surprised too. Usually, I stay quiet. It’s like the words get stuck in my throat, and they just can’t come out. Yesterday was the first time I managed to push through.”
I stop myself, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. It wasn’t some miraculous breakthrough. Just good luck or maybe desperation. The fear had been suffocating, but my need to help him had been stronger.
Oh no.
My feelings for Silasarestronger.
Fuck.
Silas
When the last video call of the day finally ends, I get up and go looking for Lauren. I find her standing by the window in the living room, watching the sunset. The soft orange light of Manhattan’s skyline frames her perfectly. I can’t lie—I like that she’s in my apartment, that she’s been here all day. I step up beside her, stealing a glance at her face while she’s lost in the colors of the fading day. She’s been by my side all day, making sure I don’tkeel over, and it hits me harder than I’d like to admit. Having someone who doesn’t owe me anything be this loyal it’s something I don’t take lightly. I swallow down whatever weird feelings are bubbling up and say,
“I want to ask you something,” I say, my voice barely louder than a whisper, like speaking normally might ruin whatever this is.
“I’m listening,” she says, her voice just as soft, her eyes still on the orange-tinted horizon.
“The day we wrote the dialogue between Persephone and Hades …” I begin, and she shifts her gaze to me, her expression unreadable. “You didn’t give me an answer that day. Was it because of what you mentioned today?”
“The selective mutism?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling out of my element here.
She nods slowly, confirming it.
I step forward, standing directly in front of her, blocking the sunset, but I don’t care. If I don’t ask her now, I think I might lose my mind. “Can you answer me today?” I ask, my voice low but insistent.
“Silas” she warns, her tone a mix of caution and something else, something I can’t quite place.
“I need to know,” I say, my words coming out more desperate than I intended. “I need to know what Persephone said to Hades.”
“I don’t even remember that dialogue,” she says, trying to back away from the moment, excusing herself.
But I don’t let her slip away this time. I take her hand gently but firmly, leading her down the hallway to one of the guest rooms. It’s my favorite one, and I have something I’ve been waiting to show her.
