C. 1, P.1 - Streetlight & Cigratte Promises
There was a particular kind of silence in rooms like this - not the comforting kind, but the thick, waiting kind. The kind that dared someone to screw up.
And someone usually did.
The mic stand creaked under nervous fingers. A rustle of papers. A throat being cleared too often.
Kush leaned back against the exposed brick wall of the college café-turned-stage and watched. Half-interested, half-amused. The open mic was dragging past its charm. Spoken word had long lost its grip on the restless crowd. A few students had already slipped out with their iced coffees and half-finished conversations. The room was dim, buzzing with soft whispers and occasional yawns.
Then she stepped up.
No one announced her name.
She didn't wait for the mic to adjust. Didn't flash a smile or give the polite I'm-nervous introduction. No pleasantries. Just unbrushed hair, a too-large denim jacket, and eyes that looked like they hadn't slept in days - not out of pain, but because they simply didn't want to.
She unfolded a crumpled paper. It trembled slightly, but her voice didn't.
"I want to start with something I didn't write for anyone," she said.
"Which is to say, maybe I wrote it for everyone."
A few heads turned. Kush tilted his head, intrigued.
The poem started strong, fragmented lines about lost keys, aching wrists, the silence between lovers that no one wants to name. It wasn't neat. It was messy, raw. Words tumbled over each other like they were trying to get out before her voice betrayed her.
And then it happened.
Mid-line, she stopped.
Not for effect.
She looked down at the paper like she'd never seen it before. Blinking. Mouth slightly open.
"Wait..." she whispered. "Where... what..."
The silence returned. Not the daring kind this time - the awkward one.
A few snickers from the back. One guy muttered something under his breath that made his friend laugh.
She stood still. For maybe ten seconds. Maybe twenty. Kush counted.
And then she dropped the paper.
Didn't bend to pick it up.
Didn't apologize.
She just muttered a sharp "F*** this," and walked off the stage. Fast. Out the side door. Like she was holding back tears, but angrier than she was embarrassed.
Kush didn't know why he moved.
Maybe it was the way she looked more furious with herself than with anyone else. Maybe it was the silence she left behind - the kind that felt like someone had just screamed into a pillow.
He pushed off the wall, ignoring the host trying to recover the energy in the room with a forced laugh.
Outside, the air was cooler. Misty. Smelled like wet dust and something unspoken.
She was sitting on the edge of the parking curb, jacket pulled over her knees, staring at nothing.
"You left your paper," he said gently.
She didn't look up. "Cool. Frame it. I've officially bombed my first open mic."
"You didn't bomb," he said. "You were... good. Until-"
YOU ARE READING
A Memory Between Us
RomanceShe forgets. He remembers. And somewhere between the silence - they fall.
