The Observer
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I often sat quietly whenever she came to visit our mutual friend. It wasn’t because I was an introvert, nor was it because I struggled with the language they spoke. In fact, I speak the King’s language quite fluently, so communication was never a barrier. I simply believed in minding my own business. To me, it felt impolite to insert myself into conversations I hadn’t been invited into. I have never liked it when people suddenly poke their noses into discussions that don’t concern them, so I always tried not to do the same.
Many times, their conversations sounded so lively and interesting that I felt tempted to contribute a thought or two. There were moments when a joke hovered on my lips or a clever response formed in my mind, ready to be released. Still, I held back. I preferred to remain the quiet observer rather than risk appearing intrusive.
Then one day, something unexpected happened.
I was alone when she walked into the room and, without hesitation, started a conversation with me. Her first remark made me laugh inwardly, though I kept my composure.
“Why are you so quiet?” she asked, studying me with curious eyes.
I smiled slightly and replied, “I’m not quiet. You just haven’t seen me around people I’m comfortable with. I talk when I feel familiar.”
She raised an eyebrow, as if unconvinced, and teased that I shouldn’t try to “flex” on her, that she would make me talk. What she didn’t know was that anyone who starts a conversation war with me may never bring it to an end. I can talk all day without getting tired, and even more so when the conversation moves behind a screen, where words flow even more freely.
What began as a simple exchange slowly grew into a comfortable rhythm of conversation. We talked about ordinary things at first, then drifted into stories, shared observations, and lighthearted teasing. She soon discovered that silence was never my limitation; it was simply my choice.
As time passed and we became more familiar, she realized I wasn’t a man of few words after all. In my absence, she often asked about me and told our mutual friend that I spoke cautiously but thoughtfully. She mentioned that many of my comments could make anyone burst into laughter because I seemed to have a story, a witty remark, or a joke ready for almost every topic.
It amused me to learn that the same person who once questioned my quietness had become someone who looked forward to hearing me speak.
When it was finally time for us to part ways, she admitted she was glad she hadn’t held onto her earlier misconception, the one others had shared, that I disliked people and spoke only to a select few.
Instead, she discovered that I was simply a quiet observer, someone who listened first, understood the room, and spoke when comfort made space for authenticity.
And perhaps that is the beauty of silence: it is not emptiness, but patience, waiting for the right moment, the right company, and the right comfort for one’s true voice to be heard.
