It was one of those nights - still, heavy, and filled with the kind of silence that knows your secrets.

Neither of us could sleep.

So I whispered into the dark,

"If we cannot sleep, then we will publish."

He turned to me, curious. "Publish what?"

I said, "Everything we're too afraid to say when the world is watching."

And so I spoke.

I spoke the things I never say out loud -

about broken dreams dressed up as jokes,

about the exhaustion of always being strong,

about how the loneliest place in the world is lying next to someone who doesn't know what's hurting you.

I laid it bare - not for pity, not for drama - just to finally be honest.

But he said nothing.

Not even a breath of acknowledgement. Just silence.

So after a pause, I exhaled and said quietly,

"Never mind. Let's just drop it. I'll focus on one more paper and publish that instead."

He looked at me, slightly amused. "You made a plan and dropped it. That was quick."

I smiled faintly. "Life is short."

He raised an eyebrow. "How short?"

And I looked him in the eyes and answered, "Very short."

Too short to keep writing drafts of conversations that never get finished.

Too short to silence yourself, waiting for someone else to speak.

Some stories were never meant to be co-authored.

Still, I will write.

Still, I will publish.

Not because I was heard...

but because the silence didn't change the truth.