The large mansion was quiet and dark. Only if you looked closely could you notice a cold point of light in a distant window on the second floor.
Something creaked, breaking the familiar silence.
Kyle flinched slightly but didn't lift his gaze from the screen.
It was just the house settling. Or water in the pipes. Maybe the wind. But the sound wasn't from life — it was from its absence.
The walls absorbed the noise again, leaving Kyle alone with the low hum of his computer and the distant ticking of a clock.
He'd gotten used to it.
Another familiar sound cut through the silence: his phone vibrated. He glanced at it, just to make sure it was Megan.
No one else ever texted him. There was simply no one. He wasn't even sure his father or stepmother had his number saved.
Meg:
Running late :'( Finishing up a presentation with Darren for Monday
As soon as the two checkmarks appeared next to the message, the second vibration caught up with the first, almost like an echo.
Meg:
Sorry… Movie night's off. I owe you!
Kyle exhaled through his nose, his irritation showing despite himself.
Of course. Again. With Darren.
He could've been coding or playing instead of sitting around waiting.
Rolling his eyes, he typed:
ok
Then paused for a second, frowned, and added:
good luck
The screen lit up again — Megan typed something else. He let his gaze linger on it a second longer than he meant to, until it went dark, then looked away.
He wasn't going to read it anyway.
Well, since he had the time now, Kyle decided to play after all.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard. The cursor blinked back at him — patient, indifferent. It didn't care how long he hesitated. Or whether he thought at all.
Darren.
The name surfaced unexpectedly.
He hadn't meant to remember it, but he did. Megan had been mentioning him too often lately.
Kyle listened to the silence.
It didn't demand anything. Didn't expect anything. It cut everything else off — beyond the walls of his room. This kind of silence — familiar, predictable — was easier to exist in.
Behind the door, the house remained vast and empty — full of spaces meant for people who spoke over him, past him, not to him.
The sound of the keyboard hung in the room. The mouse clicked on Log In.
He put on his headphones — not so much to shut out the silence as everything else.
"Hi, guys," he said flatly.
The computer hummed a little louder. The room filled with shifting colors from the screen.
Everything was as it had been.
Silence. Voices in his headphones. The dull clatter of keys. It all filled his room, his thoughts, his days — until the line between them blurred.
He chose this. Because it felt safer than words.
Here, no one waited for an answer. No one demanded eye contact. Silence here wasn't a punishment. It never had been. He could disappear — and nothing would change.
And right now, that was more than enough.
He didn't think about tomorrow.