Page 5 of The Words of Us

Just as I’m trying to get a grip on this sudden, inexplicable feeling, she stops and turns back toward the door. That’s when I see him. She reaches for his hand and pulls him inside with her, like she’s anchoring him to her world. They’re an unlikely pair at first glance, but the way she grips his hand so naturally makes me think they must be a couple.

He is striking in a different way. Tall and lean, with a kind of ethereal presence that feels both here and not here at the same time. His skin is pale, his features sharp and angular, almost delicate, with high cheekbones that make him look like he’s stepped out of a painting. His hair is cut short on the sides but long on top, a wave of platinum blond that contrasts against the dark, loose clothing he wears—an oversized black shirt and fitted jeans. His eyes are a piercing blue, sharp and clear like glass, and they seem to reflect everything around him with an intensity that mirrors hers.

Together, they create this magnetic contrast—her with her wild, restless energy and him with his quiet, almost ghostly calm. He doesn’t speak, just glances around the room, taking everything in with a gaze that feels far older than his years. When their hands are clasped together, it’s impossible not to notice the way they fit—two pieces of some larger puzzle, like they were made to balance each other.

I can’t help but assume they’re together. There’s a certain ease in the way they stand next to each other, a natural closeness that suggests something deeper than friendship. For a moment,I feel a flicker of disappointment that I quickly try to shake off. It’s silly, irrational even, to feel anything at all about someone I’ve never met before, but that pull between me and the girl from moments ago still lingers in the air like an unfinished conversation.

He steps forward, still holding her hand, and looks around the room before speaking. His voice is soft, almost too soft for a place like this, but it carries in the silence.

“Is there space for another poet tonight?” he asks, his words directed more to the room than to anyone in particular. But in a space like this, all eyes naturally turn to me.

There’s a brief pause, the air hanging thick with anticipation, and I find myself nodding before I can even think about it. “Of course,” I say, my voice a little steadier than I feel inside. I glance at the makeshift stage at the front of the room and back at him, catching a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face.

The room shifts ever so slightly, the energy changing as he steps forward, and I know tonight is going to be different.

He releases her hand and steps up to the microphone, and the room seems to contract around him. His presence, understated as it is, pulls us all in. There’s a kind of quiet intensity to him—nothing exaggerated, nothing forced, but something about the way he carries himself demands attention. The usual rustling of papers, shifting in seats, even the occasional cough—all of it fades away. You could hear a pin drop.

He stands there for a moment, letting the silence settle, before he begins. His voice, soft and measured, flows through the room, each word like a delicate thread connecting us all.

"We build ourselves in the reflection of another,

Construct our edges with the way they look at us,

Like glass blown in the heat of affection,

Curved and fragile, held together by the warmth of their gaze.

I stand in front of you,

A reflection of the love you’ve given me,

Clear, but not unbreakable?—

And you don’t know it, but you hold me in your hands,

Gentle at first, as if you know I’m brittle.

But then comes the pressure,

The weight of your fingers tracing lines across my surface,

And suddenly, the cracks begin to form,

Hairline fractures that start small,

Invisible unless you’re looking closely.

Do you see it? Do you notice?

The way I start to chip, to splinter under your touch,

The way the light no longer bends through me the same way,

Because I am no longer whole.

And in that moment, when the glass finally shatters,

I am not the reflection you once loved,

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