Sometimes I don't write. I don't respond. I don't explain. And that's when men lose their balance. They're used to predictability—to the idea that a woman should talk, justify herself, rush. But I'm not. My silence isn't emptiness. It's a test. It's a mirror in which a man sees his fears—of being forgotten, ignored, unimportant. He begins to search for meaning where there isn't any. He checks his messenger, rereads my words, remembers my voice. And I simply observe. Silence becomes my weapon, my way of saying, "You will feel my presence even when I'm not around."