The Weight of Unspoken Things

The pastel ribbons felt strangely heavy in my hands, a delicate weight mirroring the unspoken things between us. He’d said he liked them, a fleeting comment during a late-night video call, so I'd bought an entire box, testing how they looked with different hairstyles.
He didn't know about this part of me—the quiet girl who found solace in small rituals, the one who meticulously crafted her world to feel just a little bit brighter. He only saw the confident facade I presented to the world, and maybe that was enough. Maybe it had to be.
But as I tied another ribbon into my hair, his words echoed in the stillness of my room: 'You make me want to believe in something more.'
A strange longing settled within me—a bittersweet ache for a connection deeper than anything I’d known. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
Perhaps, just perhaps, letting someone see your true colors wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Editor: Floating Muse