I work from home in an old Brooklyn apartment with high ceilings, creaky floors, and a history that whispers through the walls.

Our study is actually our daughter’s bedroom during off-hours, repurposed as a workspace where my wife and I sit at separate desks.
Just enough space to pass between us. Close, but not too close—perfect for love and concentration.

She’s studying to become an elementary school teacher, headphones on, eyes locked on her screen, so intensely focused that I’m convinced she could ignore a fire drill.
I’m right beside her, lost in lines of PHP code, wrestling with bugs that refuse to die.

We don’t speak while we work. Not a word.

It’s not that we don’t want to.
It’s that we can’t afford to.

Because if I say even a simple “Hey”, it’s over.

Our daughter would appear out of nowhere, demanding to know why unicorns are magical or how rainbows work.
The baby would start crying, because chaos loves company.
And just like that, our fragile focus would shatter into a million pieces.

So, instead? We live in silence.

Secret Messages (Without Saying a Word)

Back when we first met at work, we flirted from separate desks, sending each other cheeky messages on the company chat.
We couldn’t talk aloud—professionalism and all—but we found ways to make each other smile.

Not much has changed. We still send each other secret notes.

Except now, they’re digital.

I’ll text her from two desks away:

  • “Did you see the email?” (Translation: “I miss you.”)
  • “What’s for lunch?” (Translation: “You’re beautiful.”)
  • “This bug is killing me.” (Translation: “I love you.”)

Our messages are coded love notes, little signals in the middle of the workday.
They keep us connected, even in silence.

Stolen Glances and Hidden Smiles

I steal glances at her when she’s not looking.

Her laptop is open, her notes are neatly organized, and she has that look of fierce determination that could move mountains.

She’s beautiful, even when she’s stressed, even when she’s muttering facts under her breath.
I want to tell her. But I don’t.

Because if I break the silence? The whole system collapses.

We’d lose focus.
Our daughter would rush in with questions.
The baby would follow.
And our carefully structured workday would spiral into pure chaos.

So, instead, I stay silent.
And somehow, that silence says everything.

Why This Silence is My Favorite Sound

Sometimes, I hate working from home.
I hate how work and life blur together, how emails never stop, how meetings pop up out of nowhere.

But I love this.

I love this strange, quiet dance we do.
I love the way we communicate without words, how we’re together yet apart.

I love the way she chews on her pen when she’s thinking, the way she sighs when she’s frustrated, the way she whispers to herself while studying.
I love every little thing she doesn’t realize I notice.

And even though she won’t look up, even though she’s too busy to see me staring—

I smile.

Because she’s mine.
She’s always been mine.
And in this shared silence, we’re still falling in love.

The Invisible Love Story

This is our life.
Our love.
Our silence.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

It’s not always perfect. We fight. We get tired. We get stressed.
But in this space, in this shared silence, we find each other.

It’s not about grand gestures. It’s not about dramatic declarations.
It’s about the little things.

It’s the way she hands me my coffee without a word.
It’s the way I fix her chair without her asking.
It’s the way we both know when the other needs a break, even if we don’t say it.

It’s the way our love speaks in silence.

And even on the hardest days, even when the baby cries, even when the code breaks—

I look at her and I know:

This is exactly where I’m meant to be.