The tea smells delicious—an aroma of dried grass and ripe stone fruit. But the cup is too hot to hold. She lifts it gingerly, takes the tiniest sip, and sets it down again. Blowing softly, she tries to disperse the steam, but it only slithers and curls away. She drums her fingers on the table as she glances around…

On screen, a tubby cat chases a basset hound, and his son giggles. His wife, legs tucked beneath her, kisses the downy strands of his hair. The boy leans in, his little weight pressing into her without restraint…

The bus makes a sudden, sharp left turn, pressing me against the man beside me. I'm hyper-aware of his stubble grazing my cheek, my nerves tingling from the brief, foreign touch. As I pull away, he smiles at me, but his focus is on the window…

My son squeaks in delight as the swing reaches its peak. His eyes meet the sky….

Words unsaid often weigh more than those spoken. In this collection of micro fiction, each piece explores the delicate moments when silence becomes a character of its own - in a midnight call that goes unanswered, in an apology that refuses to take shape, in a note that marks an ending. They examine how secrets can become regrets, and how regrets themselves can become secrets we carry.

Beyond the horizon, beneath the clouds, there's a flicker, in and out of perception…

A crowded tram, the same two destinations, every morning, every evening…