Daniel learned quickly that listening was harder than silence.
In the days following the conversation, he caught himself reaching for old habits. When Amara spoke, his instinct was still to respond—to contextualize, to explain, to soften her words so they would hurt less. He noticed it most during their first phone call since the café, two evenings later.
"I felt invisible," Amara said calmly.
Daniel opened his mouth, ready to say That wasn't my intention—then stopped.
He inhaled slowly. "Okay," he said instead. "Tell me more."
The pause felt unnatural. Vulnerable.
Amara hesitated, surprised. Then she continued.
Daniel listened. Not perfectly. But intentionally.
After the call ended, he sat in the dark for a long time, realizing something uncomfortable: listening required him to surrender control. He could no longer steer conversations toward comfort.
For the first time, he understood that silence wasn't passive.