The Comfortable Kind of Silence

She was your typical girl next door, maybe more. Those wire rimmed glasses, hair tucked behind ears, always scurrying off to somewhere, you get it. You’d catch her lost somewhere dazing off in her own world, sometimes, tucking her nose behind a book. She observed more than she discussed. She’ll give you a smile and a wave and perhaps small talk if she knows you; you’d be lucky if you could have that. She’ll blush if you compliment her and break away the eye contact that you guys barely had. Yeah, that’s the way she is.

People called her an introvert; shy; quiet; it went back to her school days. She was one of the good students in class. Teachers always praised her. Her mother wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“She’s an excellent student, listens very attentively in class. If only we could hear her talk more! Please tell her to interact in class. We’d love to hear her talk more!”

She tried many a times, but she was asked to speak up, told that her voice was too small, and couldn’t be heard at all. So she went back to her quiet ways.

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She only answered questions she was asked when family came home or guests. All said the same, “Your daughter doesn’t speak much, seems shy, eh?” 

Her mother would smile and nod in agreement for only her mother knew her endless stories and talking.

But with others, words fell short after few were exchanged. She would find her way back to the silence. Perhaps others found it awkward. Perhaps others found her boring. Perhaps others found it uncomfortable. She didn’t know. After all, it is a world of words, a world where words could make or break you, words could sell you and how would she survive with the silence she grew up in?
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She began to change gradually, little steps one at a time. She made more friends, ones she could talk endlessly with. But there were also others who asked “You’re still the same, aren’t you? You don’t talk at all.” There were few who liked the silence. 

People saw this new side of her; people appreciated this new side of her. And all this time, at the back of her mind, she had this thought: silence makes people uncomfortable. They need that busi ness, they need something going on, they need exchange. And by now, she had learnt to switch between those two versions of herself.

And then, she found him.
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He was a fresh whisper of the early morning dew, like the first rays of the sun that shone upon the tall snow peaked mountains and painted them golden, like the stars that covered the dark night sky and gave them its twinkle. 

He squeezed her hand as they looked at the stars together. The night was young, but the eerie quietness had crept in already, the quietness that she keeps finding herself back to.

She looked at him for what seemed like an eternity, at those eyes that she had begun to find so familiar and she finally got the courage to ask that day:

“Isn’t it too quiet out here? We’ve barely talked, only looked at the stars above”

“Is it really?” he smiled and his smile said everything.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. “You want to say something?”

She found her voice: “With you, everything is comfortable, even the silence”

She had finally found the comfortable kind of silence.