"There are some silences that don't ask to be filled —
they ask to be shared."
Dear Diary,
It rained today.
Not the loud, angry kind that crashes against windows —
but the soft kind… the thoughtful kind,
the kind that feels like someone pressing their forehead gently to yours,
just to say,
"I see you."
He waited for me by the school gate,
hood pulled over his head,
raindrops tracing lazy paths down his cheeks.
No words.
Just a small gesture —
his hand held out.
So I took it.
Because I always will, I think.
We didn't run.
We didn't laugh.
We just walked.
Slowly.
Like we were letting the world spin without us for a moment.
People passed us with umbrellas and umbrellas of opinions —
some smiling knowingly, others whispering things that clung to our backs like the wetness in our hair.
But he squeezed my hand once,
and it said everything:
I'm here. With you. Through this.
We stopped by the little bookshop on Willow Street.
Not because we planned to —
but because the scent of old pages pulled us in like a soft spell.
I led him to my favorite corner.
The one with the creaky wooden stool and the poetry that no one ever buys.
He sat.
I sat.
He pulled out a book of poems with a blue feather on the cover and read a random one aloud.
His voice was soft — the kind that doesn't rush,
the kind that gives each word its full breath.
I rested my head on his shoulder.
Not because I was tired,
but because I wanted to remember how it felt to lean on someone without needing a reason.
We walked home once the rain turned to a mist.
He walked me all the way to the gate again.
Not a word about love.
Not a word about rumors.
Just soft smiles and water still dripping from our sleeves.
Tonight, I didn't write a full poem.
Just this line:
Some people are umbrellas.
Some people are the rain.
But you,
you are the gentle space between.
Goodnight, Diary.
Wunor 🌧️📚🤍