spaghetti

The car slowly rolled up the driveway, its engine quietly turning off as we stopped. I glanced at Asher in the rearview mirror. His face was turned to the window, staring out with a blank look. The sunlight streamed in through the glass, casting a soft glow on his face, but he didn't seem to notice. I could feel the silence between us, thick and heavy, like something was wrong but neither of us knew how to fix it.

"We're home," I said softly, trying to sound normal. My voice felt shaky, but I hoped Asher wouldn't notice. I didn't want him to feel like something was off, but the truth was, everything felt wrong.

Asher didn't respond. He just stared outside, his small shoulders slumped forward. I knew he wasn't upset with me—at least, I didn't think he was. But something had changed. I wasn't sure what it was, but I could see it in the way he held himself, the way he was becoming quieter each day. I wanted to fix it, but I didn't know how.