I never heard him speak. Not once.
That should have been a red flag. But in the beginning, I told myself it was part of the appeal. In a world that never shut the fuck up—feeds full of performative trauma and influencer updates, podcasts about nothing hosted by men who didn’t know when to stop talking—there was something magnetic about his quiet. It wasn’t shyness, not the way we usually define it. He didn’t look away or shrink under attention. He simply… didn’t respond.