The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was full of everything they hadn't said yet, everything that was slowly building toward something neither of them could ignore anymore, and as Zein stood there, she realized that the problem wasn't that she didn't know what was happening, it was that she knew exactly what was happening and didn't know how to say it.
Didn't know how to turn something this complicated into words without breaking it or making it too real too fast, while Ace stood there like he didn't need those words to understand, like he had already figured out everything she was trying not to say, and that made it even harder for her to speak because now it felt like anything she said would only confirm what he already knew.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking," she replied.
"You always say that," he said.
"Because it's true," she said.
"Not like this," he replied.
Zein exhaled.
"…what does that even mean?" she asked.
"It means you're holding something back," he said.
"I'm not," she said.
"You are," he replied.
Zein frowned.
"…you keep assuming things," she said.
"I keep noticing things," he corrected.
"That's the same thing," she said.
"No," he said, "it's not."
Zein looked at him.
"…then what am I holding back?" she asked.
Ace didn't answer immediately.
"You know," he said.
Zein's breath slowed.
"…say it," she said.
"No," he replied.
Zein blinked.
"…what?" she asked.
"If you want it said, you say it," he said.
Zein shook her head.
"…that's not fair," she said.
"It is," he replied.
"…why?" she asked.
"Because it's yours to say," he said.
Zein went quiet.
"…and if I don't?" she asked.
Ace held her gaze.
"You will," he said.
Zein didn't argue—
But she didn't speak either.