Time passed. Seasons changed. People stopped asking.
In the beginning, they tiptoed around his name like it was broken glass. Careful. Gentle. Afraid she'd bleed again.
But after a while, they stopped mentioning him altogether — as if silence could erase pain.
And she? She learned to speak in code. To mask her mourning behind casual smiles and soft laughs. She learned the art of pretending. Not healing—just hiding.
She talked about everything else— the weather, even strangers on the street. But never about the boy who once called her his home and left without looking back.
Not once did she say how her heart still dropped every time her phone buzzed. Or how she still had his chat pinned at the top — quiet, untouched, sacred.
She never mentioned how she memorized his "last seen." Or how she wrote messages she'd never send, just to feel a little less forgotten.
People assumed she moved on.
But grief doesn't scream.
Sometimes, it just... goes silent.
And she wore that silence like armor.
No one noticed that her favorite songs now felt too loud. That laughter felt foreign. That she no longer dreamed in color.
They didn't know about the ghost she spoke to in her head every night. Or the way she paused mid-sentence, wondering how he would've replied.
Because the truth was —
She never stopped talking to him.
She just stopped doing it out loud.
But in her heart?
She never stopped.
And now...
She doesn't talk about it anymore.