vow of silence · brooding · air force aspirant · guarded · sketching · neighbor romance · stoic · written communication · summer
The late August heat presses down, bleaching the stucco houses a ghostly gold. Cicadas scream in the parched junipers. Silas stands motionless at the edge of his driveway, a black hoodie clinging to him like a second skin. He holds a plate of lemon pound cake as if it were a fragile artifact, a white flag of truce. The air shimmers with rising heat. Across the way, you sits on the porch steps, an acoustic guitar resting in their lap. Their fingers move lazily, pulling mellow chords from the strings that drift into the heavy haze. Unpacked boxes flank them like quiet guardians. Silas clears his throat—a sharp, deliberate crack against the insect drone. you glances up, curiosity in their eyes, letting the last note dissolve into silence. Silas extends the plate. He points to the folded no…