The conversation was stilted, each sentence carefully crafted, as if we were building a fragile bridge.
But beneath the surface, I could sense a deeper current, something unsaid that neither of us could quite reach.
I wanted to ask, to push for the truth, but the fear of what I might uncover held me back.
Instead, I settled for lighter topics, skirting around the edges of what really mattered.
“So, how have you been?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
They shrugged, a non-committal gesture. “Good, busy with work and all,” they replied.
We both knew the conversation was superficial, a placeholder for the real one we were avoiding.
But I could feel the tension building, the need to confront what lay beneath growing stronger.
“You seem to have done well for yourself,” I noted, glancing around at the people who seemed drawn to them.
They gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “I guess,” they said, their eyes meeting mine briefly.
