We had just finished dinner at this cozy little restaurant I’d been dying to try for weeks. The atmosphere was perfect: soft lighting, flickering candles, and the kind of music that made you want to linger a little longer. I was hoping for a special night, something memorable. And for a while, it was.
But then, as our plates were cleared and the server handed us the dessert menu, I noticed his phone light up. At first, I didn’t think much of it—everyone gets a text now and then. But then another message came. And another. He didn’t even glance at the dessert menu. Instead, he picked up his phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, his thumb moving rapidly as he typed back.
I tried not to let it bother me. Maybe it was important. Maybe it was work. But when I saw the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he read the next message, my heart sank. I felt a knot tighten in my chest, the kind that warned you something wasn’t quite right. I could feel the mood shift, even though I was trying to convince myself otherwise.
“So, do you want dessert?” I asked, trying to sound casual, like I wasn’t silently panicking inside.
He barely looked up. “What? Oh, no. I’m good,” he mumbled, still focused on his phone. He didn’t ask if I wanted any. He didn’t even ask what was on the menu. It was like I wasn’t there anymore.
I sipped my water slowly, watching him, feeling this awkward distance settle between us. It wasn’t the first time his phone had stolen him away during our date nights, but tonight felt different. It felt personal. And the smile—God, that smile he had while texting—it wasn’t meant for me.
I tried to keep the conversation going. “Everything okay? You seem pretty focused on that phone,” I said with a half-hearted laugh, hoping it would snap him back to reality, back to me.
He glanced up, but just for a second. “Yeah, just talking to a friend. You know, nothing major.”
A friend. Of course. I wanted to ask who. I wanted to know why that “friend” could pull his attention away so easily when I was sitting right in front of him. But I didn’t want to seem jealous or paranoid. So instead, I just nodded, pretending that it didn’t bother me as much as it did.
The truth was, I could feel myself slipping into the background of our evening. Every moment we’d shared earlier, the laughs, the stories, the connection—it felt like it had evaporated into thin air the second his phone buzzed.
I pushed the dessert menu away and leaned back in my chair, wondering if I should say something. Should I confront him? Ask if something was going on? Or should I just let it go, pretending this wasn’t a big deal when it clearly was?
Before I could decide, he finally put his phone down, but by then, the damage was done. The magic of the evening had fizzled out. He smiled at me, that same smile he’d been giving his phone all night, and asked, “Ready to go?”
I nodded, forcing a smile of my own, but inside, something had shifted. As we walked out of the restaurant, side by side but feeling miles apart, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the person he had been texting wasn’t just a “friend.” And if I was honest with myself, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to know the truth.
Because sometimes, the silence says more than the words ever could.
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