IRIS

He hasn’t said a word in minutes.

He just stands there, near the window, his arms folded across his chest, jaw tight. The sun’s nearly set, casting gold across his face and making the shadows beneath his eyes more pronounced. He looks… hollow. Like someone carved something vital out of him and forgot to fill the space back in.

I watch him from the couch, legs curled beneath me. The air between us is still charged. I don’t speak. Not yet. Not when the weight of whatever he’s carrying is still pressing so visibly on his shoulders.

There’s something in his stance, his stillness, that keeps me glued to...