Pansy was lying sprawled on the sofa with her chin resting on the back of her hand. Mattheo was sitting across from her in an armchair, slouched down.
Without looking at him, Pansy broke the silence. “What’s your favorite colour?”
Mattheo blinked slowly, as if she had asked something far more complicated. “Green.”
She turned her head, amused. “Light green or dark green?”
He scoffed, not even bothering to hide his disdain. “Just green.”
Pansy chuckled. “It is a beautiful color.”
Mattheo didn’t reply right away. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in it. Not quite a smile, not quite a memory. It was just something that passed behind his eyes and vanished before she could name it.
It was early evening and you and Mattheo were sitting on the steps at the back of the east courtyard. You were leaving in three days to start at a new school overseas. The air was heavy with the kind of silence that comes when people are pretending that things won't change.
Mattheo leaned back on his hands. “So… what’s your favorite colour?”
You smiled to yourself. “Probably green.”
He turned to you, something playful in his eyes. “Light green or dark green?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “Just green. It’s not complicated to understand.”
Mattheo’s lips quirked up in a smile. “It is a beautiful color.”
You looked at him then. “You’re stupid,” you said quietly, but there was no heat in it.
“Thank you, love,” he said just as softly.
Your new school was fine — clean and full of polite smiles and conversations that never touched on anything real. You were doing well. On paper, at least.
But tonight, you were sitting curled up on your bed with your phone in hand, your thumb hovering over the screen.
You hadn’t spoken to Mattheo in weeks.
Not because you had fought. Not because of anything, really. Just life. The shift of distance and time, and the way silence builds slowly and quietly until it buries you.
You scrolled up through the old messages and read the last one again.
And again.
Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard. The words were there, but so was the fear that perhaps too much time had passed. Maybe he’d changed. Or maybe you had.
Nevertheless, you sat there with the phone in your hand, the memory of his voice echoing in your head as you waited to type him a message.