The silence followed us even after we left the café.
It wasn't as obvious as before—not heavy enough to suffocate, not sharp enough to demand attention—but it was there, lingering beneath everything like something neither of us wanted to acknowledge.
We walked side by side, the streets of Paris stretching out around us in soft, familiar beauty.
People passed by in clusters, laughter spilling into the air, the occasional sound of music drifting from somewhere nearby. It should have felt the same as yesterday.
But it didn't.
I glanced at Harley as we walked. His hands were tucked into his pockets again, his posture relaxed, his gaze fixed ahead like he already knew where he was going—even though we hadn't decided on anything.
"Do you remember this street?" I asked, slowing my steps slightly as we passed a small row of boutiques.
He nodded once. "Yeah."
"That's it?" I said lightly, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Just yeah?"
He glanced at me briefly before looking forward again. "What do you want me to say?"
I let out a quiet breath, the smile fading before it could fully settle. "I don't know… maybe something more than one word?"
He didn't respond.
And just like that, the conversation slipped through my fingers again.
I looked away, pressing my lips together as we continued walking. It shouldn't bother me this much. It was just a conversation. Just a small moment.
So why did it feel like I had lost something?
We turned a corner, the street opening up into a wider walkway lined with trees and small cafés. A soft melody carried through the air, drawing my attention toward a street performer playing the violin a few steps ahead.
I slowed down instinctively.
The music was gentle, almost melancholic, weaving through the noise of the city in a way that made everything else fade into the background.
A small crowd had gathered around him, people pausing to listen, some smiling, others simply standing there like they didn't want the moment to end.
"It's nice," I said quietly, glancing at Harley.
He followed my gaze, watching for a second before giving a small nod. "It is."
I waited.
Nothing else came.
No comment. No reaction. No quiet remark like he would have made before.
Just that.
I turned my attention back to the performer, but the moment didn't feel the same anymore. Not when I was the only one feeling it.
After a few seconds, I stepped forward again. "Come on," I said softly, more to myself than to him.
Harley fell into step beside me without hesitation.
But that was all it was.
Just movement.
No connection.
We walked in silence for a while after that, the sound of the violin fading behind us as the city shifted back into its usual rhythm. I tried to think of something else to say—something easy, something that wouldn't feel forced—but every thought felt heavier than it should have.
Still, I tried.
"Do you want to go somewhere specific?" I asked, glancing at him.
"Not really."
"Okay…" I nodded slowly. "We could go back to that bakery from last time. You liked it, didn't you?"
"It was fine."
I blinked, caught off guard. "Fine?"
He shrugged slightly. "It was okay."
I stared at him for a second longer than necessary. "You said it was your favourite."
"I might have."
"That's not the same thing."
He didn't argue.
Didn't smile.
Didn't even look at me.
And for some reason, that bothered me more than anything else.
I looked away, my fingers tightening slightly around the strap of my bag as we kept walking. This was ridiculous. I was getting worked up over nothing. Over conversations that didn't matter.
So why did it feel like they did?
We reached a quieter part of the street, where the crowds had thinned out and the noise softened into something more distant.
A couple walked past us, their hands brushing together before naturally intertwining, their laughter low and effortless.
My eyes lingered on them for a second longer than they should have.
There was something so easy about the way they moved together. No hesitation. No second guessing. Just… certainty.
I looked away quickly, my chest tightening before I could stop it.
"Do you ever think about how things used to be?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could rethink it.
Harley didn't answer right away.
When I glanced at him, his expression hadn't changed.
"Sometimes," he said.
I nodded slowly. "It felt… easier back then."
"Yeah."
I let out a small breath. "We didn't have to think about everything."
He didn't respond.
The silence that followed wasn't unfamiliar anymore.
But it still didn't feel right.
I slowed my steps slightly, turning toward him. "Does this not bother you?"
He looked at me then, his gaze steady but unreadable. "Does what bother me?"
"This," I said, gesturing between us. "Whatever this is."
He held my gaze for a second before looking away again. "It's not complicated."
I frowned. "It feels complicated."
"That's because you're making it complicated."
The words landed heavier than I expected.
I stared at him. "I'm not making anything complicated."
"You said you couldn't," he replied calmly. "So I'm not pushing."
My chest tightened.
"That doesn't mean you have to act like this."
"Like what?"
"Like you don't care."
He stopped walking.
So did I.
For a second, neither of us spoke.
Then he looked at me, his expression still controlled, still calm.
"I didn't say that."
His voice wasn't harsh.
But it still hurt.
I swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say next. Because he wasn't wrong. He hadn't said it.
But it felt like it anyway.
I looked away first, the words I had been holding onto slipping further out of reach.
"Forget it," I muttered.
We started walking again, the silence returning like it had never left.
This time, I didn't try to fill it.
I didn't know how.
Because no matter what I said… it didn't seem to reach him.
And that was the part I didn't know what to do with.
The part that made my chest feel tight in a way I couldn't explain.
The part that made me realize—
This wasn't just distance anymore.
It was something else.
Something I didn't understand.
Something I wasn't ready to face.
And the worst part was…
I didn't know how to fix it.