His face was a map of stone,
lines pressed and deliberate,
like a monument no one touched.
We whispered his name in hallways,
our nervous laughs bouncing
off his unflinching expression.
He didn’t flinch, not at sarcasm,
not at questions. His silence
was a wall we mistook for disinterest,
a door someone forgot to unlock.
But then, afternoon coffee arrived,
and his hands carried steaming mugs,
one for you, one for me. A spark
of gentleness carved into ritual,
his sternness shedding its heavy coat.
He remembered birthdays, your dog’s
hip surgery. That time your mom
called crying and you couldn’t speak—
he didn’t pry, just left chocolate
on your desk with a note: “You\'ll be okay.”
We realized his quiet carved bridges,
his reserved face hiding open arms.
Only then did we meet the truth—
friendliness wears the strangest shoes.