[She'd just been drawing idle designs on her notebook, nothing particularly important.]
There's nothing to talk about.
[It's not a lie in the most direct sense. How is she supposed to voice something that she can't even put to words in her own head? It's like explaining an abstract painting to people who hate art: You can try but the point will never quite make it, and you'll only dumb it all down the harder you try.
But her hand turns up to hold his properly, she tilts her head towards her window, relaxing minutely. He means well but she's never been very good at talking about the parts of herself that don't make a lick of sense.]
no subject
There's nothing to talk about.
[It's not a lie in the most direct sense. How is she supposed to voice something that she can't even put to words in her own head? It's like explaining an abstract painting to people who hate art: You can try but the point will never quite make it, and you'll only dumb it all down the harder you try.
But her hand turns up to hold his properly, she tilts her head towards her window, relaxing minutely. He means well but she's never been very good at talking about the parts of herself that don't make a lick of sense.]