Things Left Unsaid
There were moments — small ones — when James felt like he could hear her thoughts in the silence.
Wren didn’t speak often. But when she did, her words were chosen like spells: precise, careful, meaningful.
The rest of the time, she said everything with a look, a breath, a single note from her violin.
Tonight, she didn’t bring her violin.
Instead, she sat cross-legged on the stone by the lake, hands in her lap, staring out at the still water as if it held answers. Her cloak billowed slightly in the wind, and her boots were off — toes dipping into the grass like she was trying to feel the earth.
James sat beside her, tossing a skipping stone into the lake. It bounced twice, then sank.
“No music tonight?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “The lake was already singing.”
James listened. Heard nothing.
But he believed her anyway.
They sat in silence for a while. He liked the way it felt with her — not heavy, not awkward. Just… present.
Like the world slowed down and paid attention when she was near.
“Do you ever wish you could undo time?” she asked suddenly.
James blinked. “Undo it? Like, change something?”
She nodded slowly. “Or relive a moment. Just one. Not forever. Just… long enough to remember why it mattered.”
He thought about it. Then said, “I think I’d go back to when I first got my wand. Mum cried. I laughed. I remember thinking, This is what magic feels like.”
Wren smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“You?” he asked gently.
Her answer was almost a whisper. “There was a night. It was raining. I was with someone I loved. And we danced in the kitchen like idiots while the storm howled outside.”
James didn’t ask for more.
Because something about the way she said someone I loved made his chest ache.
So instead, he offered her his hand.
“Come on,” he said. “Dance with me now.”
“There’s no music,” she replied, amused.
“There’s the lake. There’s the wind.” He stood, pulling her gently up. “I’ve got two left feet, but I’m a fantastic twirler.”
She let him.
They danced slowly, awkwardly, on the grass by the lake. No music, no spells. Just the rustle of leaves, the splash of a distant fish, the hum of unspoken words between them.
At one point, her head rested on his shoulder.
And James thought:
If this is fate, then I’m not afraid of it anymore.