Page 132 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Not visible, but there.

Like something in him quietly bracing.

He grabbed a bottle from the shelf, reading the label like it suddenly required his full attention.

I kept going anyway.

“I just—” I let out a small breath. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to ask what happened.”

Silence.

Not loud but heavy enough to feel.

He placed the bottle in the cart, then shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It was a lot for me.”

I nodded slowly, like that made sense.

But the question still lingered in my mind unanswered. So I tried again. Softer this time.

“I didn’t really go out,” I said, eyes still on the shelf. “For like a month.”

He didn’t react.

Or perhaps he did, just not in the way I needed.

“I kind of just stayed in my apartment,” I continued, a small laugh slipping out like I didn’t want it to sound too serious. “Didn’t really see anyone.”

A beat passed, and then⁠—

“Do we still need stuff for the bathroom?” he asked, glancing at the next aisle.

And just like that.

A clean cut.

No hesitation. No acknowledgement.

The conversation simply evaporated.

I blinked, letting it settle.

“Oh,” I said, quickly adjusting. “Yeah, I think we’re out of… soap.”

“Hand soap or body wash?”

“Hand soap.”

He nodded, already turning the cart toward the next aisle.

And I followed.

Of course I did.

Because the truth was, a part of me felt relieved.

Relieved that he didn’t ask more.