The Silence of Silence
Some Time Later
The night was hot and muggy, despite the rain that had poured from the sky earlier that afternoon. The windows were open, and the small space of their apartment was begging for a breeze.
Quinn repositioned her glasses and tilted her book so it caught the light from the lamp a bit better. She smiled as she read — not because the story was intriguing or even good, but because of the frustrated fidgetiness Rachel was displaying from three feet away at the other end of the couch they had bought together after four months in the city.
Underneath the quietness, Quinn knew there existed a great verbosity. But it was moments like these — when Rachel refused to say a word as she struggled with this or that problem — that Quinn was reminded of a different world, a world without Rachel Berry's voice. And, even then, she found it hard to accept that such a world had ever existed.
"It's summertime, you know. You're supposed to be traveling, or exploring in general, or doing things for fun. I don't know," Quinn gestured to the book in her hands, "Maybe even reading…for pleasure?"
Rachel's gaze didn't shift, not at first. But the corners of her lips tilted upward, and Quinn's did the same of their own accord.
"My dear, you know I have to finish grading this summer assignment."
"The modern Broadway stage: A review?" Quinn quoted, a hint of facetiousness in her voice. Rachel was the teaching assistant for one of Juilliard's summer programs, and she had been taking it all very seriously since June.
"Someone with half a brain has to play a part in crafting the great minds to leave my institution after me, Quinn."
"Oh, I can definitely confirm that you have full brain capacity. Don't sell yourself short."
Rachel turned, then, and Quinn was struck by that intense gaze — the same one she had fallen in love with, when she probably shouldn't have even been looking in the first place.
"Mmm," Rachel hummed, "I've tried to stop doing that."
I know, Quinn lovingly replied, touching the tips of her fingers to her chest and then to her temple.
A moment passed. Rachel's eyes were alight, and Quinn was pretty sure hers must be behaving in a similar, watery fashion.
I remember the moment I fell in love with you, Rachel signed.
Quinn let out a soft breath of laughter before dipping her head to her chest. She could see it, she could see it perfectly.
"I know," she whispered, eyes closed. Then she turned her head to look at her girlfriend, reached out her hand and brushed her hair back, graced her fingertips down the side of Rachel's cheek. And she signed, I remember, too.
Maybe they thought of different moments. Or maybe their thoughts were one in the same.
A school bus carrying them home.
A hotel room with a view.
An abandoned parking lot.
A nearly empty theater.
It didn't really matter. All were equally true — for they fell in love over, and over, and over again, it seemed.
Papers and books were abandoned as they kissed.
And that was all right, in the end.
"Love wins. Love always wins." — Tuesdays with Morrie