Subtext

Piper pulls her coat tighter around her as she steps out of the office building, the weight of the door heavy behind her. The cold air meets her skin like a reprimand. It had been warm in the office, that artificial, recycled heat, but now, outside, it’s cold again. She hesitates for a second, adjusting to the temperature, then starts walking.

It’s just after ten fifty, so she doesn’t rush. The café is only a few minutes away. She chose it because it’s close, yes, but also because she knows it well. A small place with dark wood tables and good coffee, one of those places that don’t invite lingering but make you want to stay anyway. She wonders if Alex will get there first. She wonders if Alex will be late.

The invitation had felt abrupt, almost surreal. Coffee didn’t mean texting. Coffee didn’t mean seeing each other at the community centre. Coffee meant sitting across from each other in daylight. Coffee meant deliberate eye contact. Coffee meant Alex had something to say. But what could she possibly want to say to her that she couldn’t say over text? What could she possibly have to say that couldn’t wait until next week?

The city moves around her as she walks. People rushing, some slow, a woman balancing a takeaway cup in one hand while she types on her phone with the other. A man standing too close to the curb, shifting his weight like he’s impatient for the light to change. She registers these things automatically, as if she’s not entirely here.

At the entrance of the café, she stops. Through the window, she scans the room, her eyes flicking over strangers before landing on Alex, who is already there. Sitting at a table near the window, her fingers curled around a cup, looking down at it like it might say something back to her. Piper exhales slowly, squares her shoulders, and pushes open the door.

Alex glances up immediately, her sunglasses hooked onto the collar of her sweater.

Piper slides into the seat across from her. “Hey.”

Alex lifts her gaze fully, her mouth twitching into something that could be a smile but isn’t quite. “Hey.”

Piper shrugs off her coat, folds it over the back of her chair. “You beat me here.”

Alex huffs out a small breath. “Didn’t want to be late.”

Piper nods.

Alex lifts her cup but doesn’t drink. “How was the meeting yesterday?”

Piper almost laughs at the shift, but she lets it happen. “Fine. Not the same without you there.”

Alex raises an eyebrow. “Is that a nice way of saying it was boring?”

“Maybe.” Piper smiles. “Polly brought snacks, so that was something.”

Alex smirks. “Polly always brings snacks.”

“True.” Piper nods and glances toward the counter. "I should order something."

Alex gestures vaguely. “Go ahead.”

Piper moves to the counter and scans the menu even though she already knows what she wants. The café isn’t very wide, the tables are pushed close enough to the counter that conversations spill into each other. She can feel Alex’s presence behind her, can tell she’s listening.

When the barista asks, she orders a medium oat milk latte, extra hot, with one and a half pumps of vanilla and no foam. The words come out neatly, precisely, like she’s said them a thousand times before.

From behind her, Alex lets out a quiet, amused noise. “You know, you could’ve just said latte.”

Piper half-turns, shooting her a look. “And let them ruin it? I don’t think so.”

Alex grins. “The no foam part really got me.”

“Foam is disgusting.”

“Okay, sure.”

Piper crosses her arms. “What do you even order, huh?”

“Coffee.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Piper sighs like she’s deeply disappointed. “You seemed like someone with better taste.”

Alex laughs, a low, warm sound. Piper takes her drink when it’s ready and returns to the table, still shaking her head as she sits. “I just like what I like.”

Alex raises an eyebrow again. “You don’t say.”

Piper cradles her cup, blowing gently on the surface before taking a tentative sip. As she sets it down, she glances at Alex and finds her watching, her expression unreadable but not unfriendly. There’s something familiar in this, this teasing, this easy rhythm between them. It surprises her. They hadn’t spoken this way at the meeting last week, hadn’t fallen into this kind of back-and-forth. Maybe it’s just the setting, the way one-on-one conversations work differently than group ones. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, she likes it. It makes her a little anxious, but mostly, she’s just curious.

She watches Alex trace the rim of her cup with one finger. Then Alex looks up and says, “You’re probably wondering what this is about?”

Piper straightens slightly at the words. “Yeah,” she says, too honest to pretend otherwise. “I kind of am.”

Alex nods, as if she expected that, because she did, because it was obvious. “Right.” She hesitates for half a second, then lifts her cup and takes a sip before meeting Piper’s eyes again. “How much time do you actually have? You know, since you made a point of choosing this place because you’re so busy and all,” and flashes her a smile.

Piper tilts her head slightly, surprised at the way Alex says it, at the hint of teasing. “Not much,” she admits. “Like half an hour. I have a meeting at noon.”

Alex hums, thoughtful. “Alright. I guess I’ll get to the point, then.” She shifts slightly in her seat, glancing down at her cup, as if weighing her words. “So, after we texted last week, when I like encouraged you to keep showing up to the meetings, and I said I was looking forward to hearing your piece… I felt like it wasn’t very nice of me to just not show up yesterday. Especially without saying anything.”

Piper blinks, not expecting that. “Oh,” she says. “I mean—"

Alex shakes her head. “No. Please, let me finish. I know how hard it is to start going to something like that, to actually put your writing out there. I know because I’ve been there. So it didn’t sit right with me, how easy it would’ve been to just text you and say I wasn’t coming. And how I didn’t.”

Piper watches her, quiet for a moment, considering the weight of what Alex is saying. “I did wonder,” she admits finally. “Not in an angry way or anything. Just—yeah, I noticed.”

Alex exhales, nodding like that was exactly what she expected to hear.

“So this is your way of making up for it?” Piper asks smiling, genuinely curious.

Alex lets out a small, self-conscious laugh. “Not really. Well, maybe. But—"

She pauses, and Piper notices something subtle in her posture, something almost nervous. It’s small, barely there, but once she sees it, she can’t unsee it. “You know you don’t owe me an explanation, right?”

Alex lifts her gaze. “I know.”

“I mean, we barely know each other. You don’t have to justify anything to me.”

“I know that, too.”

Piper leans forward slightly. “So why are you?”

Alex exhales, glancing away for a moment, before looking back at Piper. “Because I wanted to.”

Piper holds her gaze, searching for something there. “Okay,” she says softly.

Alex nods, and for a moment, it feels like they might leave it at that. But then she straightens slightly, fingers tapping against her cup. “I visit a friend sometimes. In prison.”

Piper blinks. “Oh.” So this is what Tasha and Joe meant by delicate. It must be. Wow. She wasn’t expecting that.

Alex doesn’t look away, but there’s something guarded in the way she holds herself now. “It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it or worried about what people think. About what you may think. It’s just… hard to talk about. Because of how it makes me feel.”

Piper takes that in. She doesn’t push, doesn’t react too quickly. “That makes sense.”

Alex studies her, like she was expecting something different. A different kind of response. “Yesterday morning, I got the chance to visit. I never really know which weeks I’ll be able to go and which I won’t. But I went yesterday, and after that, I just… I wasn’t really up for the writing thing.”

Piper nods slowly. “I get that.”

And she does. But she also feels something else, something unsettled, something she can’t quite name. A mix of curiosity and the strange, unexpected intimacy of being told something that clearly isn’t easy to share. There’s a quiet shift in how she sees Alex now, an awareness of something deeper under the easy confidence. It makes her want to ask more. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays quiet.

“I didn’t want you to think I was just blowing you off,” Alex says quietly, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t know if that makes any sense,” she adds and her voice is hesitant now, like she’s worried she’s overshared or said too much. “But I just... wanted to explain.”

Piper shakes her head, a soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It does make sense.”

Alex’s shoulders relax slightly, though her gaze remains fixed on Piper.

“I’m glad you told me,” Piper says after a moment.

Alex smiles, but it’s small, tentative, like she’s not sure how Piper is really reacting. “I know I said I didn’t care what you think but I’m glad you’re not freaked out or anything,” she says with a hint of self-deprecation in her tone.

“I’m not,” Piper reassures her, though she’s aware of the tension still hanging between them and she can’t tell if it’s just her or if Alex feels it too.

She’s noticed the small things, the way Alex’s lips had curved as she spoke, the rhythm of her breath, the way her fingers had grazed the side of her cup. There’s this odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, nerves, probably. She wonders if it’s the fact that Alex has invaded her thoughts so completely since the meeting last week. She never expected to have this moment between them. The version of Alex she thought she knew at the writing group was confident, distant even, someone who might not let you get too close, someone who didn’t seem to care about much. But now, sitting across from her, there’s this vulnerability, something she didn’t even know was there in the first place. All of this was uncharacteristic for the aloof, sarcastic person Piper had first met.

She wonders if it’s because of the prison visit yesterday. Some wounds, she thinks, don’t just heal in a few hours. Maybe for Alex this is the kind of thing you have to live with, carried deep under the surface, resurfacing only when you least expect it.

She tries to push away the questions that keep flooding her mind. She can’t stop wondering if Alex would have gone out of her way like this to explain herself for anyone else. If she would have done this, explained herself in such a vulnerable, honest way, to anyone else that she’s just met. Or if it’s something about her that’s made her want to be honest like this. She knows it’s strange, but she can’t help but feel like this moment is... special, in a way. But maybe it’s just because she hasn’t had many meaningful interactions in the past couple of years. Her life has felt a little too quiet, too distant, too boring, and maybe she’s forgotten what normal even feels like. Why would she be special to Alex anyway? It feels stupid to even consider it.

As the thoughts swirl in her mind she looks at Alex more closely now. She notices how beautiful she is up close. Not just beautiful, but striking. Even more than she remembered. Her features are delicate, her face a little sharper than she first thought at the meeting, and yet there’s a softness to it, too. She notices how her eyes catch the light in a way that makes them seem almost luminous, reflecting the soft spring sun that filters through the café windows. The sun is warm now, too warm even, making their corner of the café feel a little too hot, a little too intimate.

Alex isn’t wearing glasses today, Piper notes, though she remembers her wearing them the other day. Today, she only has her sunglasses hanging from the neck of her sweater, like an afterthought. Piper wonders if she’s wearing contact lenses today, or if the sunlight is just making her eyes even more striking.

Alex catches her gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards as she notices the way Piper is staring. Her eyes narrow just a little, like she’s amused, but not surprised. “Is something on my face?”

Piper blinks, caught off guard, and quickly looks away, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Uh, no. Sorry. Just, uh... just wondering if you’re wearing contact lenses today?” she says, trying to recover, but her voice sounds too casual, like it’s forced. She can feel the awkwardness settling in, and the more she tries to smooth it over, the worse it feels.

Alex chuckles. “Ah, so you were staring at me because of my eyes, huh?” She leans forward slightly, her tone playful. “I’m flattered.”

Piper can feel her heart rate pick up, but she forces herself to laugh. “I mean, you do have really nice eyes,” she says, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh? Really? How nice are we talking here? Like, ‘I could get lost in them’ nice? Or ‘they remind me of a sunset’ nice?” Her voice has a light lilt, like she’s genuinely enjoying the moment.

Piper smirks, trying to match her playfulness. “I don’t know, maybe somewhere in between.” She shrugs casually, but her smile betrays her. “You know, just... very distracting.”

Alex leans back in her seat, her eyes glinting as she studies Piper. “Distracting, huh? Well, that’s a new one,” she says and the amusement clear in her voice. “I think you might be the first person to ever say that about me.”

Piper smiles with her whole face, her mind still a little foggy from the odd mix of nerves and the warmth that’s flooding through her chest. She feels flustered. It’s strange how quickly the tension between them can shift, how a few simple words can change everything. “Well, you’re welcome, I guess.”

Alex smiles, a little more openly now, her shoulders relaxing. “Thanks. I’ll try not to let it go to my head.” She leans forward again. “So, besides my eyes, what else are you staring at me for?”

Piper lets out a small laugh, surprised at herself for not feeling more embarrassed. “Nothing. Just... thinking about how this is a little… weird” she admits, her tone lighter than before. “Sorry, that was rude. I mean. I just. I guess I just didn’t expect to ever have this much of a conversation with you when I first met you.”

Alex grins, and her voice is low but warm when she says “What, you thought I’d be a total mystery forever?”

“I mean, kind of,” Piper laughs. “You’re kind of good at being mysterious.”

“Ah, well, it’s a skill I’ve honed over years,” Alex teases.

Piper can’t help but smile again. “Oh, yeah? And when did you start perfecting that art?” she asks, also leaning in slightly.

Alex taps her finger against her mug, her eyes glinting. “I think it was around the time I realised I could get away with it.”

Piper laughs now, with that laugh of hers, revealing all her teeth in a captivating, almost addictive smile. Her eyes narrow slightly as she watches Alex. “You do seem like you have everything figured out.”

Alex shrugs nonchalantly, though her pulse keeps quickening. “I wouldn’t say that. I just like to keep people guessing. It’s more fun that way.”

Piper smirks, leaning back in her seat. “Well, you’re doing a good job of it. I’m definitely intrigued.”

Alex’s grin widens, and she tilts her head slightly, as if considering something. “Good.”

Piper breaks the eye contact for the slightest instant, a flicker of nervousness crossing her, and in that quiet pause, Alex steals a quick glance at her phone and the expression on her face shifts just slightly. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I think I’ve officially kept you from your duties long enough,” she says gathering her things.

Piper blinks, momentarily thrown off balance by the realisation that she’s actually running late. She stands up, gathering her things in a flurry of motion. “Right, yeah. I didn’t even—” She trails off, her words lost as she looks at the time. It’s absurd how fast the time has passed.

“Guess you were too distracted by my eyes.” Alex quips.

Piper rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, genuinely, in a way she hadn’t expected to be when she first sat down. “Maybe I was,” she says, not even bothering to hide the grin.

Alex stands up too and shrugs her coat on, the fabric of her sweater pulling tight across her shoulders. Her outfit is simple, just a soft, faded grey sweater that fits her effortlessly, paired with dark jeans that hug her long legs just right. The sleeves of the sweater are pushed up slightly, revealing the curve of her wrist, a subtle detail that Piper can’t help but notice.

Piper quickly grabs her coat from the back of her chair, slipping it on, the fabric of her own coat brushing against her fingers. It’s a stark contrast to Alex’s casual look. Piper’s coat is more structured, dark and formal, like she’s still trying to hold onto some semblance of control over the day.

They both stand by the table for a moment, silently gathering themselves, before heading toward the door. Alex steps to the side, holding it open for Piper, and the motion feels surprisingly easy, natural, like it’s something they’ve done before. Piper steps out first, letting the cool air of the street hit her face again, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the café at that point.

Alex walks a step or two ahead, then turns to look at Piper. “Well, I guess this is where we part ways, huh?”

Piper glances at the sidewalk ahead. “I guess so.”

“Where’s your office, anyway?” Alex asks, her tone casual, like it just occurred to her.

“Just a couple of blocks from here.”

Alex nods, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I’ll walk you. If that’s okay.”

It is okay. More than okay, actually. Piper just hadn’t expected it. She should say something light, make some joke, but all she does is nod.

They fall into step easily, their strides naturally aligning, though Piper wonders if she’s unconsciously matching Alex’s pace or if Alex is matching hers. Their hands are in their pockets, shoulders brushing once, maybe twice, but Piper isn’t sure if she imagined it.

“So,” Alex starts, tilting her head toward Piper, “did you brave it?”

Piper glances at her. “Brave what?”

“Reading your piece yesterday,” Alex says, her mouth curving just slightly. “Or was it just an overthinkification of why people don’t say what they feel?” She asks mockingly.

Piper huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, so now you’re making up words?”

“Don’t deflect,” Alex teases, side-eyeing her. “Did you? Read it?”

Piper exhales, tilting her head back slightly as they wait at a crosswalk. “I did.”

Alex’s expression shifts, something genuine there. “Yeah? And how’d it go?”

Piper shrugs, but it’s a little performative. “Not terrible.”

“That’s an underwhelming review.”

“I’m an underwhelming person.”

Alex makes a doubtful noise. “Don’t think so.”

Piper presses her lips together, but she’s smiling, she can feel it. They start walking again, the light changing, the rhythm of the city moving around them. She chances a glance at Alex, who looks ahead but with a kind of ease, like she’s comfortable in this moment.

“I’m bummed I missed it,” Alex says, quieter now. “Really.”

Piper hesitates. “I mean, I could email it to you. I have your email from the blog.”

Alex shakes her head almost immediately. “Not the same.”

Piper frowns slightly. “What’s not the same?”

“Reading it isn’t the same as hearing you read it.”

For a second, Piper thinks about saying something bold, something about how they could meet up again, when she has more time, when she isn’t rushing back to work. But she doesn’t. Instead, she lifts a shoulder in a small, almost casual motion and says, “Guess you’ll just have to show up next time then.”

Alex looks at her, something amused but unreadable in her expression, and after a beat, she nods. "Guess I will."

Piper watches Alex for a moment, the way she settles into that answer, like she’s decided something. There’s something amused in her expression, but also something else. It’s not disinterest, that much she knows.

Alex exhales, a short breath that could almost be a laugh. “You know, I’d make the effort if I knew there’d be something worth showing up for.”

Piper catches the edge of her own smile before she fully allows it. “Oh? So now I’m supposed to pitch my work to you?”

“I meant the meeting in general. But if you want to take it personally, go ahead.”

Piper hums, stepping around a group of people standing too close to the curb. Alex falls easily back into step beside her, like it’s second nature. Like this kind of thing happens all the time between them, though it doesn’t. Not yet, anyway.

“You’re really working this angle, aren’t you?” Piper muses.

Alex glances at her. “What angle?”

“The I missed out, you should make it up to me angle.”

Alex lifts a brow. “Is it working?”

Piper shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Alex lets a few beats pass, then nudges her shoulder lightly. “Well, I mean it. I wanted to hear your piece. You gonna send it or not?”

Piper glances at her, weighing the question. “You really care that much?”

Alex shrugs, but there’s something deliberate about it. “Yeah. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

There’s a beat where Piper feels her stomach dip slightly. She exhales through her nose, shaking her head lightly, like she’s clearing a thought before it fully lands. “Sure. I’ll send it. But I expect extensive commentary in return.”

Alex smirks. “You got it. I’ll even grade it if you want. Red pen and everything.”

“I take back my offer,” Piper says dryly, pushing open the door to her office building. They stop just outside, lingering in the half-space between goodbye and something else.

Alex slips her hands deep into her pockets. “Guess I’ll have to keep my editorial thoughts to myself, then.”

Piper rolls her eyes, but it’s more playful than exasperated. “I’ll send it. Just… don’t overanalyse my psyche or anything.”

Alex makes a show of zipping her lips. “No promises.”

For a second, neither of them moves. Then, with a small nod, Piper steps backward toward the entrance. “Alright. See you around, then.”

Alex watches her for half a second longer than necessary. Then she smirks. “Guess you will.” And with that, she turns, walking off down the street like she’s got nowhere to be, and yet, Piper can’t help but think she’d have stayed longer if she could.

Alex gets home late, later than she’d planned. The museum had been chaos today. An exhibit installation running behind schedule, an impromptu donor visit that had everyone scrambling. She’d volunteered for the worst shift so she could keep her morning free, which meant spending the past eight hours weaving between crates and pedestals, coordinating with art handlers, calming a curator who was nearly in tears over incorrect lighting, and making sure a wealthy couple felt sufficiently charmed as they toured the museum’s newest acquisitions. Now, at nearly ten, her body aches from hours of walking, standing, negotiating logistics, and fielding minor crises.

She drops her bag by the door, toes off her shoes, and pulls her hair up as she heads to the bathroom. She already showered this morning before meeting Piper, but the day has settled on her skin in a way she can’t ignore. She steps under the hot water, letting it rinse away the exhaustion, the tension in her shoulders, the lingering press of too many interactions.

When she finally emerges, towel wrapped around her body, she crosses to her bed, where her laptop lies abandoned in the sheets. She picks it up, flipping open the lid. The device is cheap, one of those models that overheats too fast and hums too loud, its surface nearly hidden beneath a chaotic collage of stickers. Most of them aren’t even hers but Nicky’s work, mostly. Nicky has this thing about stickers, about covering every surface with them until an object barely remembers what it was before. Alex doesn’t mind. She never really cared about keeping things pristine.

She checks her email out of habit, scanning the usual clutter before her eyes snag on a name: Piper Chapman. Sent at 1:22 p.m. Alex’s lips curve into a smile, mouthing the name, forming the syllables with her lips. She wonders if Piper sent it just after her meeting at noon ended and she finally could do so. The thought appeases her.

She clicks it open, eyes skimming the text before she even processes the words. There’s a moment of satisfaction at the confirmation that Piper really did send it. That their conversation this morning had lingered, had turned into something tangible, something waiting for her now.

She shifts, settling back against her pillows, getting comfortable. And then, with the smallest smile, she starts to read.

Subject: As promised

Hey,

This is me, following through. You can decide whether that makes me diligent or just someone who responds well to persistent peer pressure.

Attaching a piece I thought you might like. Not the one from this week because I figured you wouldn’t want to miss out on hearing that one properly. But something shorter, something I wrote after last week. A small overthinkification, if you will.

Try not to laugh too hard at me.

Piper

Alex smirks at the callback. She can almost hear Piper’s voice in it. She likes that she sent something different. She likes that she sent anything at all.

Her fingers hover over the trackpad for a second before she clicks on the attachment. A document opens, the title blank, just a cursor blinking at the top of the page, then words.

Everything the Silence Knows

Some things are like loose threads. You think, if you don’t touch them, they won’t unravel. But then, sometimes, they catch on something anyway. A doorframe. Someone else’s hand. The moment you weren’t careful enough.

Other things are heavier. You carry them like stones in your pockets, wade into deep water and tell yourself you’re fine. You tell yourself they’re small, just weightless things. It isn’t until you try to move that you realise how much they’re slowing you down.

And then, the worst kind. The kind that sit just behind your teeth, pressing up against the moment before speech. That heartbeat of hesitation, the split second where you think: say it. And then you don’t. And later, when you’re lying awake, you wonder who you would be if you had.

Alex reads it twice. The first time, too quickly, absorbing only the shape of it, the rhythm of the sentences. The second time, slowly. Letting the words sit in her mouth, in her chest. Something unsettles in her, something quiet and deep-rooted. She presses her laptop against her thighs.

It’s good. Of course it is. It’s careful without being hesitant, deliberate without being overwrought. But more than that, more than craft or rhythm or any of the technical things Alex could pick apart if she wanted to, it feels real. It feels like something Piper didn’t just write, but meant.

And Alex, for reasons she doesn’t quite want to inspect, likes that. A lot.

She closes the document but doesn’t exit out of the email, her cursor hovering over the reply button. She should respond, probably. Should say something. But instead, she just stays there for a moment, staring at the screen, before finally clicking the laptop shut.

Then she grabs her phone instead, thumbs tapping out a message before she can overthink it.

Alex:sorry for the late-night text, but I just got home

Alex: you trying to make me self-reflect at this hour? rude

She hesitates, then adds:

Alex: is this the piece you mentioned last week? the one you were working on?

She sends it, then types again before she can talk herself out of it.

Alex:it’s good, I’ll give you some real feedback if you want it

That done, she sets her phone aside and rummages through her drawers for a clean t-shirt. She pulls on an old band tee, something from the grunge era, the fabric worn soft from years of washing. Black underwear, mismatched socks. She should probably care more about what she sleeps in, but comfort has always won out.

Before bed, she cracks open the window, lights a cigarette. The city hums below, a few headlights cutting through the darkness. She inhales deeply, lets the smoke sit in her lungs before exhaling it into the cold air. A moment of stillness, of quiet before sleep.

She stubs out the cigarette and checks her phone. No response yet. That’s fine. Piper probably went to bed a while ago.

She grabs the book from her nightstand, flipping it open to where she left off. And Then There Were None. She likes the way Christie builds tension, how nothing feels safe in her stories. She settles in, letting the words pull her under, though somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’s still aware of the phone resting beside her.

Waiting.