From an early age, Annabel realised that silence held immense power as a means of control. She embraced it as effortlessly as one might embrace charm, instinctively and without thought. In the midst of raucous environments, she would retreat into quietness. While surrounded by discussions filled with assertive opinions, she opted to listen instead. Many interpreted her quiet demeanour as a sign of weakness, but they were entirely wrong. For Annabel, her silence served as a protective shield. When her mother revealed they would be relocating, Annabel responded with a nod and a series of practical inquiries: What distance would they be travelling? How spacious was the new house? Would her bedroom window still face east? She did not bring him up—not due to a lack of interest, but because curiosity had always seemed a dangerous venture. She encountered Richard on a Tuesday. He leaned against the kitchen counter upon her arrival, his sleeves rolled back and an unreadable look on his face. Despite sharing the same age, he seemed older—taller and more composed, like someone who had discovered early on the art of not expecting much."Annabel," her mother introduced her warmly. "Meet Richard."He returned a polite smile—guarded and measured."Hi."That was the extent of their greeting—no fireworks or theatrics, merely a moment that gently lodged itself in her mind as if it were a bookmark. Sharing a home with him involved gradually piecing together small fragments of his life. Richard preferred his coffee unsweetened and often sat up reading deep into the night. He had a tendency to pause thoughtfully before responding to questions, as if he were carefully choosing the most palatable version of reality. Annabel noticed every detail but chose to remain silent about them. Their bond blossomed in the comfort of shared spaces rather than through dialogues—working on homework at opposite ends of the dining table, late-night trips to grab snacks, and an unspoken agreement that neither cared for loud music during the morning hours. The realisation of her feelings slipped in surreptitiously. It manifested as a heightened awareness—her body acknowledging him before her mind caught up, or the unnameable disappointment that would strike her when he had not yet returned home, or the irrational sense of serenity that enveloped her when they sat together in silence. Annabel remained conscious of her emotions. She meticulously logged her feelings like potential hazards in a strategic plan: high risk, minimal gain, unlikely outcome. She reminded herself that finding someone attractive was a common human experience and that intimacy could often cloud judgment; that timing could conjure feelings of passion even where they may not truly exist. Yet, despite all her reservations, she loved him.
