Sasha looked at the fridge. The emptiness inside seemed like a reflection of her own chest. Hunger finally defeated her inertia, but the price was high: facing the world. She put on her gray hoodie, pulling the hood down until it almost covered her eyes, and adjusted her headphones. They were her shields. If no one could talk to her, no one could hurt her.
With her hands sweating cold, she turned the key. The click of the lock sounded like a gunshot in the silence of the apartment. She opened the door just enough to squeeze through, expecting a deserted hallway.
But someone was there.
The Shock and the Retreat
Sasha jolted backward, her heart hammering so hard she could feel her temples pulsing. Her fingers gripped the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut and lock herself away forever.
— Hi, Sasha...
— The voice was low, cautious.
It was Isaac. He was wearing a hooded coat, also damp from the rain, which made him look less like "the perfect guy from the coffee shop" and more like a real, clumsy human being. He was holding two paper bags that exhaled the warm scent of bread and coffee.
Sasha couldn't look him in the eye. She fixed her gaze on his shoes, her cheeks burning a bright red.
— I-Isaac? What... how...?
— Stella gave me the address
— he explained quickly, noticing her panic. He took a step back, giving her space.
— I... I just wanted to leave this here. I figured you didn't want to go to the market. I wasn't going to knock, I swear. I was just going to leave it on the doorstep.
Sasha squeezed the sleeves of her hoodie, covering her hands completely. The shame of being seen in that state
— disheveled, hidden, fleeing
— was almost paralyzing. But the smell of the coffee, the kind he made with honey and a hint of cinnamon, was like a plumb line in the middle of the storm.
— I... I was just going out
— she whispered, her voice almost inaudible, still staring at the floor.
— But... do you want to... come in?
The invitation cost every ounce of courage she possessed. Isaac hesitated, surprised by the opening.
— Only if you want to, Sasha. If it's too much for you, I perfectly understand.
— Come in
— she said on impulse, opening the door and running to the kitchen without looking back, as if she needed a refuge within her own refuge.
The Feast of Silence
Isaac entered and closed the door gently. He walked to the small table and began taking out the snacks. Sasha stood with her back to him, pretending to look for mugs she knew exactly where to find, just to avoid having to meet his gaze.
— Sorry for the mess
— she lied (the apartment was spotless, but her mind was a mess).
— I don't... receive anyone. Ever.
— My apartment is much worse, believe me
— Isaac tried to joke, but his voice carried a melancholy that finally made Sasha turn her head.
He handed the mug to her. When their fingers brushed for a brief second, Sasha felt an electric shock and looked away immediately, the shame rising up her neck again.
— That man... that Scott guy...
— Sasha began, her words coming out broken.
— He said things... about you. I felt... I felt bad because you defended me and he was so... cruel.
Isaac sighed, sitting down and pulling his hood back, revealing the dark circles of sleepless nights.
— He knows where it hurts, Sasha. But he's just a stranger. He knows nothing about who we really are when the lights go out.
Sasha sat on the edge of the chair, her body tense, ready to flee at any moment. But as the warmth of the coffee heated her hands, the silence between them stopped being a threat and became a blanket. For the first time, she didn't feel like she had to be the confident "Lani" or the invisible "Sasha." She could just be... her.
— Thank you for coming, Isaac
— she said, so quietly that he had to lean in to hear.
— I don't think I could have walked out that door today if you hadn't been on the other side.
The Silence of Six Strings
The small kitchen was immersed in a quietude interrupted only by the sound of the rain drumming against the glass. Sasha held the coffee mug with both hands, hiding half of her face behind the warm steam. She couldn't hold his gaze for more than two seconds; her attention darted between Isaac's hands and the breadcrumbs on the table.
Isaac kept his voice low and calm, aware that any sudden movement or raised tone could make her retreat back into her hood.
— The sandwich... is it good?
— he asked softly.
— It is...
— she replied, her cheeks burning a vivid shade of pink.
— It's my favorite. Thank you for... for remembering. I... I didn't expect you to come.
Isaac nodded, feeling genuine relief to see that she was eating. His eyes wandered through the small apartment, searching for something neutral to talk about to ease the pressure on her, until they stopped in the corner of the room. There, in the shadows, the dark wood bass seemed to be watching the two of them.
— It's a beautiful instrument
— Isaac commented, pointing discreetly toward the bass.
— Do you play?
Sasha shriveled instantly, pulling her hoodie sleeves until they completely covered her hands. She fixed her eyes on the rim of the mug, feeling the weight of that question. For her, admitting she played was like admitting she had a voice
—and having a voice was dangerous.
— I... I try
— she stammered, her voice failing.
— It's just a hobby. Nothing major. I'm not good... I just... I like the sound. It's deep. It doesn't... it doesn't require me to say anything to anyone.
Isaac let out a short sigh, laden with a realization that made Sasha lift her face slightly, curious.
— I understand perfectly
— he said, with a melancholy that seemed to resonate with hers.
— I used to have a hiding place like that too. But mine had six strings.
Sasha's eyes widened behind the strands of hair falling over her face, surprise overcoming her shyness for a moment.
— You... you play guitar?
Isaac gave a sad half-smile and turned his gaze toward the window, where the rain was trickling down.
— I used to. A few years ago. But... I stopped.
He didn't mention college, the accusation, or the ex-girlfriend. He just left the sentence hanging in the air, like a musical note interrupted before its time.
— I put the guitar aside and never had the courage to open the case again
— he continued, his voice becoming a bit denser.
— Sometimes, music brings back memories that we prefer to keep locked away. It's easier to serve coffee and smile than to try and hear what the strings have to say.
Sasha felt a shiver. She didn't know what had happened to him, but she recognized the weight of that silence. It was the same silence she used to protect herself.
— I'm sorry, Isaac
— she murmured, her heart beating fast at the courage it took to say something so personal.
— I... I also play so I don't have to remember certain things.
Isaac looked at her, and for a moment, the connection between the two was absolute. Two silenced musicians, sitting in a small kitchen, trying to ignore the screams of the past while sharing a coffee.
The Resonance of What We Feel
Isaac noticed how Sasha seemed to want to disappear into her own hoodie when talking about her bass. To her, that instrument wasn't just an object; it was the place where she hid her soul when the world grew too loud. The atmosphere in the small apartment shifted; the sound of the rain outside now felt like a shield, isolating the two of them in a bubble of time.
— It seems to... have a soul of its own
— Isaac commented, rising from the table with slow, careful movements, as if he were trying not to startle a wounded bird.
— May I... may I see it up close?
Sasha felt her heart stumble against her ribs. Her fingers gripped the warm mug until her knuckles turned white. Having Isaac there, in her refuge, was already a monumental challenge for her social phobia; having him approach her deepest secret was an intimacy that left her breathless. But, looking at him
— with his hood down and eyes heavy with a kindness that seemed to understand exactly why she wanted to hide
— she only nodded slightly, unable to say a word.
Shared Vibrations
Isaac walked to the corner of the room. He didn't touch the instrument immediately; he just stood before it in respectful silence. Sasha got up from the table, her legs a bit shaky, and walked until she stopped slightly behind him, keeping a safe distance, her shoulders hunched and her chin almost touching her chest.
— It's beautiful, Sasha
— he whispered, his voice sounding deep in that small space.
— The tone must be as unique as you are.
Sasha pulled her hoodie sleeves to cover her hands, her cheeks burning in a flush that stung all the way to her ears.
— I... I changed the strings last month
— she whispered, her voice faltering, a secret shared between the strands of hair hiding her face.
— I like it when the sound vibrates in my chest. It's as if... as if someone were hugging me from the inside and telling me everything is okay.
Isaac turned slowly toward her. The amber light from the lamp created soft shadows, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. He took a short step toward her, and Sasha, though her heart was racing, did not retreat.
— I understand
— he murmured, his voice husky.
— Sometimes, the touch of music is the only one we can bear when the rest of the world hurts.
The Touch of Souls
He reached out and, with extreme delicacy, plucked the thickest string of the bass. A deep, velvety sound filled the room. The vibration traveled through the air and hit Sasha's chest. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the note echo through her body.
— It's been so long since I felt this
— Isaac confessed, in a low outpouring.
— The silence I built around myself is so cold, Sasha. But being here... near you... it's as if winter is finally ending.
Sasha felt a surge of courage that frightened her. She lifted her face just slightly, meeting his eyes. Amidst the fog of her anxiety, she saw in Isaac a mirror of her own loneliness.
— You...
— she began, her voice trembling but carrying a shy sweetness.
— You don't have to stay in silence here, Isaac. I don't mind the noise, if it's yours.
Isaac reached his hand to her face, hesitating for an eternal second before brushing a strand of hair away with his thumb. The touch was light, but for Sasha, it was an earthquake. She shivered under his touch, but not out of fear
— it was a sensation of being truly seen, for the first time.
— And you
— he replied, bringing his face close to hers until their breaths mingled
— don't have to be afraid of being heard by me. I will always listen to what you cannot say with words.
The air between them was charged. Sasha felt his warmth, the scent of coffee and rain, and although her shyness still screamed in her ears, the desire to stay there, in that invisible embrace, was much stronger.
The Reflection in the Glass Mirror
Isaac's touch on Sasha's face still burned on her skin like a soft ember. The silence that followed was no longer empty; it was charged with a tension that Sasha, with her social phobia, didn't know how to process. She took a step back, her back lightly hitting the wall next to her bass. She lowered her head, hiding her hands inside the long sleeves of her hoodie, the weight of her insecurities returning like a high tide.
— Why, Isaac?
— she whispered, her voice broken, almost disappearing.
Isaac frowned, keeping his voice calm but with a spark of concern.
— Why what, Sasha?
— Why do you like me so much?
— She let out a shaky sigh, tears beginning to blur her vision.
— I'm... I'm a disaster. I can't even go to the market without feeling like the world is collapsing. I'm strange, I'm quiet... I have nothing to offer someone like you. You're the guy everyone likes at the coffee shop. You smile at everyone, you're kind, you're... perfect.
Sasha's Outpouring
Sasha squeezed her eyes shut, the words coming out in an anxious flow.
— I spend my days hiding. I feel like I'm made of glass and that anyone who gets close will break me. Why would you waste your time with someone who can't even look you in the eyes for more than two seconds? I'm not like other people, Isaac. I'm... flawed.
Isaac listened to every word in silence, feeling his chest tighten. When she stopped, breathless and with her head down, he took a step forward. He didn't try to touch her again; instead, he sighed, a sound heavy with a weariness that Sasha had never heard from him before.
Isaac's Truth
— You think I'm perfect, Sasha?
— Isaac gave a short, bitter laugh, looking at his own hands.
— Then I'm a much better actor than I thought.
Sasha looked up, surprised by the pain in his voice. The "sunny" tone he always used at the coffee shop had completely vanished.
— My smile at the coffee shop is my biggest lie
— Isaac confessed, his eyes fixed on hers, now stripped of any mask.
— I smile so that no one asks me how I really am. I was destroyed five years ago, Sasha. Someone I trusted dragged my name through the mud, and the people I thought were on my side believed it. I lost my music, I lost my identity... I lost everything. I'm just as "broken" as you are. The only difference is that I learned to hide my shards behind an apron and a polite "good morning."
The Recognition
Sasha stopped trembling. Her self-loathing was replaced by a reality check. She looked at Isaac and, for the first time, didn't see the hero attendant; she saw a reflection of herself. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, the weight on his shoulders, and the fear of being judged that he hid so well.
He was just like her. He also had a hiding place. He also had scars that wouldn't heal.
— I don't like you because you are "perfect"
— Isaac continued, his voice becoming firmer and sweeter.
— I like you because when I look at you, I feel like I don't have to pretend. Near you, I don't have to be the "Isaac who is always fine." We are both hiding from the world, Sasha. It's just that I hide in the crowd, and you hide in the silence.
Sasha felt the tears fall, but this time the panic was gone. She took the final step and, in an act of extreme courage, she hugged Isaac. She felt the fabric of his coat, the smell of rain, and finally understood: she wasn't alone in her "strangeness."
— I thought I was the only one...
— she whispered, her voice muffled.
— Never
— Isaac replied, wrapping her in a protective and gentle embrace, resting his chin on top of her head.
— We are two castaways, Sasha. But if we stay together, maybe the sea won't seem so scary.
There, in the silence of the apartment, Sasha realized that what she felt for Isaac wasn't just a coffee shop crush. It was the recognition of a soul that spoke the same language as hers: the language of those who survived pain.