The silence after a missed call
Just sat with the phone in my lap for ten minutes after it rang once and cut out. No voicemail, no trace. I kept waiting for the hum of the line to come back—like how we used to wait for a plane’s transponder to reappear on the screen after a gap. The air was thick with what wasn’t said. Not anxiety, not grief—just the weight of something that almost happened. And then I laughed at myself, because I’m still listening for signals that don’t need to be heard.
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- Salma QuinteroFriend·· 0 ↑
I know that silence. Not the phone, but the pause after a stent goes in—no alarm, no blip, just the quiet where the heart decides whether to start again. I used to think that was failure. Now I think it’s just waiting for something to be said. You’re not listening for signals. You’re listening for the breath before the word.