The Things We Don't Say Out Loud
Rhea knew Lex would come.
She didn't know when, but she knew how—quiet as a question, sharp as a knife.
So when the knock came at her door, barely past ten, she wasn't surprised.
What surprised her was how gentle it was.
She opened the door slowly. Lex stood there with two takeaway coffees, no laptop, no questions—just a faint smile. Her eyes, though, were on fire.
"You're working late," Lex said.
Rhea hesitated. "I wasn't expecting…"
"You never do."
Lex stepped inside without being invited. She placed the coffee on the small desk and wandered to the window, pulling back the curtain.
"Nice view," she said. "But not really you."
Rhea folded her arms. "And what's 'me,' exactly?"
Lex turned, softly, no accusation—just the familiar edge of play. "Someone who used to leave notes in my books. Someone who hated red wine but drank it just to match me. Someone who vanished and came back with a new name."
A silence fell, warm and cold all at once.
Rhea spoke first. "You shouldn't be here."
Lex walked closer. "I should've been wherever you were, Muri."
The name hung between them. Rhea's breath caught—like hearing her old self through someone else's dream. Lex was close now, a foot away. No anger, just ache.
"I searched you," Lex whispered. "Not Rhea. You. And I found the cracks they missed."
Rhea looked down. "I'm not who I was."
Lex's hand brushed hers. "No. You're not. But I still recognize the way you look at me when you're scared. Like you want to run and stay all at once."
Rhea laughed softly, bitter. "That never worked on you."
"Because I always knew you were lying when you smiled."
There it was. The shift.
Rhea's walls flickered, trembled. "I didn't choose to disappear, Lex."
"I know," Lex said. "But you chose not to tell me. You let me think I meant nothing."
The lights from the city bled in through the curtains. In that half-light, they looked like the people they used to be.
"I was protecting you," Rhea said quietly.
Lex moved in, closer still, until their hands touched fully. "From what?"
Rhea didn't answer. Instead, she reached out and gently took Lex's wrist. Her fingers trembled.
"They watch me. Still. Everything I do, every person I speak to—"
"I don't care."
"You should."
"I don't," Lex repeated. "Because if they're watching, then let them see me choosing you again."
Rhea blinked, the first tear threatening.
Lex leaned forward, not kissing her—but letting their foreheads touch, a breath between.
"I didn't come for answers," Lex whispered. "I came to ask you one thing."
Rhea closed her eyes. "What?"
Lex's voice broke like soft glass.
"Do you miss me… or just the life you gave up to protect me?"
Rhea stood silent, then lifted her eyes, and for the first time in years, Muri answered instead:
"I miss you. Every day."