A Quiet Kind of Ache

The dorm room feels hollow. The grey Boston University lamp on my wooden brown desk is the only source of light in the room, casting long and uneven shadows over the empty twin XL bed across from mine. My roommate left to head home for the weekend. Her absence shouldn’t bother me this much, but somehow, it does. The silence has its own presence in the room. The atmosphere feels heavy and dense without her occasional remarks, rustling, and tapping on the keyboard. The quietness is the unspoken proof that I’m completely alone.

I sit in the chair and stare at the ceiling, breathing deeply. Taking in this quiet moment. I can hear the faint hum of the heater creating a dull mechanical sound against the weight of the night. My phone rests on the desk. The screen is still dark. My messages go unanswered. I tell myself I don’t care. It is just another empty conversation meant to drift into nothing. But deep down the truth is I always care.

I should be sleeping by now, but the thought of closing my eyes and letting myself sink into this hollow feeling, this endless stretch of time between now and the morning, is unbearable.

So I do what I always do. I pick up my phone and start scrolling.

A engineer. A lawyer. Someone who calls themself “self — employed”. Left. Left. Left.

The screen blurs for a second before reloading. Another lineup of strangers chosen by the algorithm. Left. Left. Left.

Then I see him.

E, 25. PhD student at MIT.

The first photo is nice and crisp. He’s wearing a simple light yellow t-shirt and leaning against a white pillar. The lighting is natural and warm, making his smile stand out even more. His calm and scholarly blue eyes beautifully contrast with his shirt. There’s something very relaxed about the way he holds himself. Like he’s never known what it feels like to overthink his entire life.

I scroll a bit further through his profile and see a graduation photo from UC Berkeley. A math major. Instead of suffering through proofs, I can tell he enjoyed them. Nerdier than the usual party ditzy frat guys I go for.

I drop my best pickup line: “I’m a vegetarian, but I’ll take your meat any day”.

The time is 4 A.M. My screen lights up. It’s a notification from Hinge saying it’s a match. “Now you have my attention,” E texts.

I smirk, with my hand hovering over the phone ready to type again.

2

The White Lies party had the usual chaos. Bodies swarming together, the blinding lights, the blaring music. I step out of the frat house and into the cool air, the night spiraling all around me. As I stand out here in the quiet, empty night, the loud music from the party fails to drown out the emptiness. My four friends are still inside, laughing and carrying on. I need something more than the shallow conversations.

I text E, “Can I come over?”

I stare at the screen a few seconds before hitting the send button. Hoping for a quick response. The seconds feel like minutes, stretching longer than they should. My head feels like it’s drifting through the clouds, but somewhere in the haze, I know I’m searching for something. Maybe E. Or maybe the illusion of something that feels real.

Finally, a reply comes.

“I can’t tonight. Took too many drugs earlier today, and I’m kind of out of it,” he responds.

I blink at the words. Trying to process them. “Out of it”. The bluntness of the words feels cold and hits me hard. I should be relieved that he’s not a mystery puzzle and gave a direct reply, but I can’t shake this feeling that his reply is not enough.

I pause, then look over at my friend who is talking with someone else. I tap Eira on the shoulder and hand her my phone.

“Can you text E for me?” I ask, my words are slurred. I can feel myself being too far gone.

She looks at me and takes the phone.

“Just ask if he’s okay. Or if he needs anything,” I say.

She types the message for me without a second thought. Not knowing how badly I just want to hear I am desired and that I am wanted.

I watch her send it. A part of me knows how ridiculous this is. I can’t show up for E when I’m this far gone. But I need something to cover the silence that keeps swallowing me whole.

The screen lights up again. Another reply from him.

“Thank you for checking in. I just had a rough night, but I’m good”.

I see the message; a small bitter smile at the corner of my lips and a nod. For a moment, I thought I could fix myself. I really believed I could.

3

The deadline is suffocating. The time on my Macbook reminds me that my essay on The Fallow Deer at the Lonley House by Hardy is due in less than two hours. I’m cramming words after words onto the paper, but I can’t focus. The words on my essay start to blur. I can feel the weight of the paper pressing into me.

Just then, a message pops up on my screen. It’s from E.

“Hey, want to come over for a bit? Not too late though, I have a busy week ahead”.

A rush of adrenaline comes over me. I should be working, but I can’t help it. The thought of him makes my heart and mind race. I grab the keys to my dorm and call an Uber. My heart is still beating faster than usual. I text him back, trying to be playful.

“Do you want to make out with me? It’s totally fine if you’re not comfortable; we can just chill at your place”.

My heart is racing, but finally a reply.

“Sure, I wouldn’t mind. We can cuddle and see how that feels!”.

The city lights blur past me. I tell myself this is supposed to be casual. I was just meeting a guy I found attractive nothing more. I check my phone again thinking about his last text message. Can’t stay too late, got a busy week. A reminder that nothing was serious. I stare out the window into the night sky and wonder if I should even be doing this.

When I arrive, E’s place is calm, nothing like the chaotic parties that fill my weekend. His apartment is simple and clean. His presence fills the space, and the silence feels heavy but somewhat comforting.

He asks about my essay like he’s trying to probe deeper into my thoughts. “Do you think nature is more powerful than technology?” he asks. I can feel the weight of his gaze.

I answer honestly. “Yes, nature has a way of overwhelming many things”.

He nods. I can feel his deep interest.

As we continue to talk, the conversation gets more personal. He asks about my family and I tell him that my parents are paying a lot for me to be at BU. A heavy weight that I carry with me every day.

“Do you have siblings?” he asks.

“I have a younger brother and a younger sister, but the age gap is pretty big”.

He laughs. “Your parents must have started really young.”

I shake my head. “My mom didn’t have me till she was 30.”

I ask him if he has anything to drink. He gets alcohol from his cabinets. I take a few sips and ask him why he’s not drinking.

“I don’t really drink”, he says. His tone sounding a bit off. “My parents kind of ruined that experience for me”.

There’s something in the way that he says it that makes me pause. I don’t pry, but I know there’s a deeper story.

“I’m really glad to be in Boston,” I tell him. “My parents are really religious”.

“You probably enjoy the freedom, huh?”

I smile.

We talk a bit more, and he starts asking me about my post-grad plans and I tell him I want to go to law school.

“I want a comfortable lifestyle”.

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you should go into sales. There’s a lot of money in that.”

I smile. It’s a good suggestion, but the thought of it doesn’t settle with me. I drink a bit more alcohol, but it burns my throat.

“You should’ve listened to me and mixed it with orange juice,” he says, smirking.

I chuckle, feeling a little bit lighter. The conversation drifts to something more intimate.

“A lot of my friends have a body count over 20, but we’re all around the age 19.”

He looks at me, intrigued. We start talking about body counts and previous experiences.

“Do you want to make out?” I ask. My voice quieter than before. The alcohol boldens me. He smiles, and we head to his bedroom.

His room is simple. Neat. A desk for his laptop, a bed, and a big black shelf. It feels safe and controlled.

As we start kissing, I feel a mix of comfort and nervousness.

“What’s your body count?” he asks.

I lie and say “two”.

“Are you okay with this being casual?” he says.

I can feel a pang in my heart. I lie “yeah sure”.

He doesn’t press me further as we start kissing again. His hands are eager now, and I can feel the hunger in the way he moves.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” I ask. After a moment, he agrees.

It’s messy and awkward at first. I feel the tightness and unfamiliarity. He stops a few times, checking in on me, but we continue. All of these new sensations are overwhelming. The moments start to blur.

We keep going, but then when he pulls out he stops suddenly. There’s a moment of realization on his face.

“Are you on your period?” he asks, surprised.

I feel my cheeks flush. “No, I wasn’t totally honest earlier. I’ve never had sex before”.

He looks at me and then back at the blood on his bedsheets. He gets up to remove the dirty sheets. I feel small.

When he comes back, he holds me close. As we talk he asks more about my past. I tell him about my previous two partners. After a while, I tell him I need to get back to my dorm.

“Should I play you a song on my guitar or cook you something?” he asks. Trying to lighten the mood.

“No thanks,” I say, shaking my head.

The Uber ride back felt extra quiet. I sink into the back seat, hearing the hum of the car engine fill the silence. The city lights start blurring past me. I can feel the weight of the night settling in. My body is tired, but my mind is alive and replying everything. The warmth of his touch, the way he looked at me, the realization on his face. I press my head against the cool glass and wonder if I made a mistake.

4

It’s the day after, and the silence between us feels heavy. I keep replaying last night in my head. The rawness and intensity of everything. The rush of emotions that’s been settled into a dull ache.

I start typing, “Hey, E. I’ve been thinking about last night, and I can’t do something casual like that. I think it took a toll on my mental health. If you want to try dating for something more serious, I’d be open to it”. I hit send before I could overthink.

I sit there, feeling the vulnerability hitting my skin. I don’t know what I expect from him, but this feels like something I need to say. I can feel the quietness stretching over us.

Finally, my phone buzzes.

“Sorry, that was definitely not my intention, but hopefully you learned something about yourself and the type of relationships you want going forward. I’m really sorry, but I can’t provide you with what you’re looking for at this point in my life. I’m taking a medical leave from MIT. You should try and find someone healthy in Boston”.

I stare at his message. My chest is tightening. The weight of his words feels like a door closing. But not in a way I am ready for.

I sit with the phone in my hand, staring at the blank phone screen. The loneliness that I was trying to outrun rushes back.