More Than Words

She stood across the room from him, hands wringing as she anxiously waited for his reply. He had heard her, despite her uttering the words so softly. He had known what the question was before she even asked it, right when she paused and gave him a look torn between guilt and longing.

And he knew what the right response was. Deny her request, stick to his principles and rules of the religion. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Because he wanted to as well, as much as she did. They hadn’t seen each other in months and those months had been spent in confusion and anger and fights, endless fights. They didn’t speak of it when they finally met that day, but it lingered on both their minds, half expecting the other to bring it up. Neither did.

He’d missed her, as she’d missed him, and longed for her warmth and the closeness that was missing in those months.

So he said yes, finally, he said yes. Her heart leapt with joy but she took a step back as though she had changed her mind, as though she was giving him time to change his answer. But he had agreed and she moved towards him, reaching out for him, both aching to be held by the other.

They embraced, holding each other close in silence. She felt small in his arms, and he was wrapped around her like a blanket, giving her warmth and comfort. She held on to him, clutching his shirt as though he’d disappear if she let go.

All those months slipped away as they held onto each other. The doubts and worries melted away, reminding them why they were together, reminding them what the other meant to them. They didn’t speak of the fights they had, or the fears and insecurities and anger those months brought. It wasn’t needed; the hug spoke more than mere words could have done.

But still, she broke the silence by telling him what she felt for him, her voice muffled by his shirt, to which he murmured a response. He buried his face in her hair and held her tight. She never felt as safe as she did than in his arms.

Minutes passed and still they stood there holding each other. She tried to take it all in: the way he had his all-too-familiar smell, faint yet comforting; the sound of his heartbeat, his heart racing in its ribcage as her head lay on his chest; the way he held her, strong, tight, yet gentle; the way his arms around her didn’t slacken despite embracing her for so long. She could’ve cried then, she was so overwhelmed with feelings.

But it was late and he had to go. He was the one to mention it, the words calling an end to the moment. Still, he held her for a bit longer, his arms wrapped around her waist. Eventually, he sighed and he repeated his statement, finally releasing her from his lock. Reluctantly, she pulled away as well. Quietly, they left the house, neither knowing what to say. In the end, very few words were exchanged but it was fine; the embrace had spoken more honestly and more loudly than any spoken words could have done.