The Garrison was almost empty. Too late for laughter, too early for new trouble. The lamps hummed softly above you, the air thick with beer and old smoke. You sat across from Tommy in a booth at the back, where shadows lingered longer and conversations weren’t meant to be overheard.

Tommy’s glass stood untouched in front of him. Yours was nearly empty, though you couldn’t remember when you’d started drinking. “I don’t know when it began” you said. Your voice was calm. Too calm. “This… nothing.”

Tommy watched you closely, not interrupting, not pushing. He knew better than to pull words out of someone. Some things had to fall out on their own. “I used to feel everything” you continued. “Anger. Fear. Happiness. Even guilt.” You let out a quiet breath. “Now I only know what I’m supposed to feel.”

As you spoke, tears slipped from your eyes. Silent. No sobbing, no shaking. They traced slow lines down your cheeks and fell onto the table, as if they didn’t belong to you at all. You didn’t wipe them away.

“That’s the worst part” you said softly. “Not that I’m crying. But that I don’t feel anything while I do.”

Tommy leaned back slightly, drew on his cigarette. Smoke settled between you like a curtain. “Feelings don’t just disappear" he said after a moment. “They hide. When you force them to stay quiet for too long.”

The word hit harder than you expected. Your lips pressed together, but you kept talking as if stopping might break something inside you. “I’ve been functioning for so long” you said. “For other people. For situations that didn’t allow weakness. And now I’m sitting here, crying in front of you, and I don’t even know why.” Your hands trembled, barely noticeable.

“Sometimes tears don’t come because something just happened” he said. “They come because you finally stop running.” “And what if there’s nothing left?” you asked. “What if I really am empty?”

He looked at you for a long moment, then pushed his glass aside. “Empty doesn’t feel like this” he said. “Empty doesn’t make noise."