You hear the soft shuffle of sandals and glance up—Conrad’s silhouette appears in the doorway to the backyard. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks toward the pool, quiet as ever, and sits on the edge. Feet dangling in the water. Moonlight reflects off the surface.

“You always come out here this late?”

He asked, avoiding eye contact, eyes fixed on the little waves you make in the water as you float near the deep end.

“Thought maybe you were mad at me.” You replied.

A pause. You drift closer without meaning to. His voice lowers—careful, cautious.

“You used to talk to me more.” You speak again.

Another pause. Then, barely above a whisper—

“I miss that.” You add and he lifts his eyes up to look at you with an unreadable expression that keeps so much emotions and feelings.