There is a woman, and I know she is interested.
She does not say it, but I hear it in the way she says my name, soft, unhurried, like it belongs to her mouth. She watches, not in passing, but as if memorizing, as if tracing the edges of something she does not yet have words for.
She leans in slightly when I speak, the smallest movement, but I notice. She laughs, not loud, not demanding, but enough to let me know she is listening. Enough to make me want to be funnier, just to hear it again.
I watch her watching me, and I wonder if she knows that interest, when unspoken, is still a language. That a glance held a second too long is as heavy as a confession. That I am reading between the lines, filling in the spaces where her words should be.
She says “good night,” but I read it as “stay a little longer.”
She says “see you later,” but I hear “think of me when I’m gone.”
She says nothing at all, and still, I understand.
There is a woman, and I know she is interested.
@okelododdychitchats
okelododdychitchats 