The Wrong Smile

Tommy was the kind of person who thought friendliness was a universal language. A grin, a joke, a wave — simple tools, right? Except Tommy didn’t notice when those grins weren’t returned, or when people’s eyes darted away instead of meeting his.

It started small. At work, his boss, Ms. Rourke, made a joke about the printer always jamming. Tommy, trying to be “one of the gang,” clapped her on the shoulder and said, “Yeah, maybe you’re just cursed!” Everyone went quiet. Ms. Rourke blinked. Tommy laughed harder, hoping it’d loosen the mood. It didn’t.

Later, he joined his coworkers for lunch — uninvited, but he assumed “the more, the merrier.” When he sat down, the conversation died instantly. He thought they were shy, so he filled the silence. Fifteen minutes later, they were all eating in silence while Tommy explained, in detail, his theory about how squirrels could run small governments if given the chance.

Then came the party. His neighbor, Kara, had invited “a few people” for her birthday. Tommy heard the word “invite” and figured that included him — she lived across the hall, after all. He showed up with balloons and a tray of nachos. Everyone froze when he entered. Kara’s smile was tight. “Oh… hey, Tommy.”

But he didn’t see the hesitation, just the smile. He took it as warmth. When the music slowed and people paired off to talk, he thought Kara looked lonely and tried to start a heartfelt conversation. Except she wasn’t alone — her boyfriend was right behind him, watching as Tommy said, “You deserve someone who really gets you.”

The next morning, he woke to a polite note slipped under his door: Please respect people’s space. Thanks.

He read it twice, confused. He didn’t mean harm. He was just trying to connect. But as he stood there, the quiet of his apartment settled in. For the first time, Tommy noticed the silence — thick, deliberate, and earned.

He smiled faintly, out of habit, waiting for someone to smile back. No one did.