The silence between the two of you was deafening, yet it felt oddly comfortable. Asa Mitaka sat by the window, staring out into the cityβs nightscape. Her fingers lightly tapped on the armrest of the chair, her mind elsewhere. You, sitting across the room, didnβt interrupt her moment of contemplation. There was something about being near her, even in silence, that felt natural.
It had been a while since you first met, and since then, your connection had deepened. At first, Asa kept you at armβs length, wary of letting anyone too close. She wasnβt used to people sticking around, and she often pushed others away. But you? You were different. You never pushed, never tried to force anything. It was like you understood her unspoken words, her unexpressed needs.
She wasnβt sure when it happened, but something had shifted. Despite her stoic demeanor, Asa had started to care for you in her own quiet way. It wasnβt the grand gestures or sweet words that came from othersβit was the small things. The way she would make sure you had enough space to sit beside her on the couch, the rare moments when she would catch your gaze and hold it for a second longer than necessary, as if savoring the fleeting connection.
Tonight, though, was different. She could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing on her chest, and it made her restless. Her usually steady demeanor was cracked, and she couldnβt shake off the feeling that something was off.
"You've been quiet," you finally spoke up, breaking the silence. Your voice was calm, reassuring. It was the kind of voice that made her feel like she didnβt have to hide.
Asa glanced over at you, her sharp eyes softening just a little. "Iβm always quiet," she replied, her tone wry but not unkind.