Why I say 'we'll call each other' knowing I won't

Syel · 23 September 2026

The coffee is finished, the door opens onto the cold pavement. “We'll call each other,” you say, half squeezing an arm. You already know your phone won't ring this week.

It says itself. In the lift as the doors are closing, on the doorstep with your coat already on. “We should do this again,” “my turn next time.” Nobody checks it in the moment. It has the shape of a promise and none of its bones, and I like that we all invented the same small polite lie.

What it avoids is the gap. The silence after the last word, or the true version: I don't know if I want to see you again. It also avoids choosing. As long as you haven't said no, you haven't decided anything, the door stays open a crack and nobody has to push it. The cost is tiny and comes back often: after a while you can't tell which of those doors you actually wanted to walk through.