Lessons in Silence

I used to think courage was loud. That it announced itself with grand gestures and bold

declarations. But real courage, I learned, tastes like burnt coffee at seven

in the morning when you show up anyway. The library became my refuge after everything fell

apart. Not because I loved books particularly, but because it was warm and no one

asked questions. I'd sit at the same table by the window, watching dust particles dance in the morning

light, pretending I had somewhere important to be. He always sat three

tables over. Older guy, maybe seventy, with paint-stained fingers and this

habit of humming while he read. For weeks we existed in parallel silence. Then one Tuesday