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I don't ask where we're going.

I just put my hand in hers.

She leads me away from the table without saying anything, past the terrace and along the fence bordering the horses' field, until we reach a narrow path cutting through the dry grass behind the house.

The voices follow us at first, laughter drifting from the terrace and music carrying on the evening breeze. With every step, the sounds grow fainter until all I can hear is our footsteps on the dirt and the soft buzz of insects in the grass.

Olive trees stretch across the hillside in crooked rows, their trunks thick and twisted, like they've been standing here longer than any of the houses around them. The setting sun catches their leaves whenever the breeze moves through them, changing them from green to silver and back again.

Nora keeps walking with her hand wrapped around mine, never asking if I'm okay or trying to fill the silence.

Fuck, she gets me.

We reach a spot where the ground slopes gently towards the valley, and she finally lets go of my hand.

The house sits behind us in the distance, warm lights beginning to glow beneath the terrace. From here, the people are nothing more than tiny shapes moving around the table, and the sky above them looks like it's on fire, orange bleeding into pink and purple as the last sunlight spills across the fields.

Nora sits in the grass and pats the spot beside her.

I join her, and for a few minutes, neither of us says anything.

My brain doesn't go quiet immediately. It never does. The sounds from dinner are still bouncing around somewhere inside my head, but slowly, the tangled mess begins to separate.

I breathe in, letting the warm evening air fill my lungs, and realise my shoulders have finally relaxed.

Pulling one knee up, I pick a blade of grass.

“You must think I'm weird.”

She turns towards me. “What?”

I roll the grass between my fingers, already regretting opening my mouth.

“Most people do.” I shrug, trying to make it sound like I don't give a shit. “I know I'm different. Most people love conversations and being surrounded by other people, and I do too, don't get me wrong, but after a while, those things drain me.” I glance towards the house, where another faint burst of laughter reaches us. “With my ADHD, everything eventually gets too fucking loud, and my brain just...” I shake my head. “Stops. And I need quiet. Sometimes so badly I can't even explain why.”

“No.” Her brows pull together. “I don't think you're weird.”

She looks genuinely confused by the idea.

“I think you see and hear and feel everything a lot louder than the rest of us,” she says after a moment. “And that has to be exhausting sometimes.”

I look down at the grass between my fingers.

“You're a lot of things, Grumpy.” There's a smile in her voice now. “You're stubborn, you hardly ever tell me what's going on inside that head of yours, and sometimes you irritate the absolute shit out of me.”

I laugh, and her smile grows.

“But weird isn't what comes to mind when I think of you.”

“Then what is?” I ask, because apparently I'm self-sabotaging today.

She considers the setting sun for a moment.

“Remember that book about horses you lent me?”

I nod.

“There was a part about stallions that stuck with me. How powerful they are, but also how sensitive. How they can stand perfectly still and notice things most people would miss.” She turns towards me. “That's what you remind me of, Jude. There's so much going on beneath that quiet exterior of yours.”