When silence speaks louder than chalk.: When the Wall Stops Writing Back

 

✨ Episode 3 — The Interrupted Recess: “The Wall Has No Reply”

For the first time since this strange game began — the wall said nothing.
No chalk hearts.
No doodled smiley faces.
No scribbled replies to my sarcastic notes.

Just blank brick and silence.

It felt like getting ghosted… by a wall.

---

That morning, I’d written something funny — or at least I thought so:

“Rain or Sunrise — choose your fighter ☀️🌧️”

Usually, there’d be a reply by lunch. Something teasing like,

“Depends who’s buying the coffee.”

But today? Nothing.
I even walked by three times (don’t judge me), pretending to tie my shoelaces each time.

Still blank.
The kind of blank that hums with absence.

---

By 2 p.m., my brain was spiraling.
Maybe it was the janitor.
Maybe they left the school.
Maybe I’d scared them off with my Rain vs. Sunrise debate. (Why am I like this?)

I even started writing a backup note — “Did you move? Should I write to another wall?” — when suddenly someone walked in.

It was him.

Well — I think it was him.
The new guy who always lingers after class, who hums while erasing the board, who once laughed at my doodle of a duck in a raincoat.
He looked at me, smiled politely, and said, “You dropped this,” handing me a piece of chalk.

My chalk.

Coincidence? Or clue?

---

The rest of the day felt like one long rom-com montage in slow motion.
Me, pretending to read my notes while glancing at him.
Him, tapping the chalk between his fingers like it was some secret code.
The air — humming with something I couldn’t name.

By the final bell, I gave up hope. The wall stayed blank. My mysterious writer — gone.

But as the sunset slanted through the window, I caught it — a shimmer of white at the corner of the board.

Tiny. Fresh.
A new line, written in slanted handwriting I’d know anywhere:

“Even walls need breath between words.”

My heart did this stupid little flip.
A laugh escaped me — part relief, part disbelief.
It was such a them thing to say: quiet, clever, maddeningly poetic.

But then I noticed something else, just below that line — half-erased, faint but definitely there:

“Tomorrow… meet—”

And the rest? Gone. Smudged.

---

Cue dramatic music.
End scene.

Because now, I have one day to figure out:
Did the wall just ask me out?
Or is this the start of something bigger — something I might not be ready for?

💭 Reader Prompt:

Have you ever fallen for someone’s silence before their words?