It takes him a long time to fully process what I just asked him. In the end, all he says is, “You overheard.” Not a question. Just a sentence. More like a death sentence, actually, based on his tone.
I nod grimly as incoming tears I desperately don’t want threaten to sting my eyes. “Yeah, I heard the last bit. I wasn’t trying to or anything. I got your text and headed over to the park. When I spotted you guys, you just seemed so deep in conversation that I didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t mean to overhear. I really didn’t. But I did, so now, we’re here, and now, I’m asking: did you mean it?”
He doesn’t say anything, and I feel myself shrink. Slowly, irreversibly, right in front of his eyes. Pieces of my soul withering away in real time. I manage to hold back the tears somehow, but I do
