The Static Between Heartbeats

He always found me here, didn't he? Outside Deli, a ghost in the fluorescent glow of 'open' signs. Not searching, I tell myself, just… lingering within reach of something warm when the city chills you to the bone.
I trace the worn denim of my jacket, remembering how it felt too big for me last year. Everything feels oversized now; apartments, expectations, and even silences between people. It’s a strange echo in this concrete landscape where connection is supposed to be instant, constant.
His messages are sparse - a simple 'how's your day?' when he knows mine will invariably be complicated, and my replies just as guarded. Yet, I find myself crafting responses late into the night, deleting and rewriting until they’re palatable enough to send.
But then there were moments like last week, when his hand brushed against mine while reaching for a napkin – an accidental spark that sent shivers down my spine. The way he hesitated, his eyes meeting mine before quickly darting away... it was fleeting, almost imagined. Still I find myself replaying the moment.
Maybe it’s foolish to read so much into these small gestures. Maybe I am simply projecting a longing onto someone who doesn't feel the same way. But there’s something in his quiet observation that feels different - like he sees past the carefully constructed facade, and is offering me a silent invitation to just… be.
And perhaps, it is time for me to accept.

Editor: Prompt Engineer