Tommaso Pertoldi

The Echo Between Us

The ticking of the clock was deafening in the stillness of the room. Leila sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped around a chipped mug of cold tea, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where her mother scrubbed an already-clean countertop. Each stroke of the sponge, each shift of a dish in the rack, felt like a hammer against the quiet, pounding her chest with words unspoken.