I can't understand it. For the first time, silence has crept into our relationship, and inside, I feel so restless, desperate to break it and make things as they were before. I want to be carefree and unguarded in front of her again; it used to be so easy for me, but now, it's getting hard. How does a single day take over us so much that we forget all those beautiful moments we once shared?
We both forgave each other, reassured ourselves that we care deeply, yet there's still a lingering fear inside: will things ever truly return to how they were? I know only time can dissolve this silence, but waiting has me feeling more discouraged, and all I can do is wait. I wish we could talk again, as freely as before. The thought of losing her scares me, and even more frightening is the thought that being together might turn into a mere formality. This poison is slowly hollowing me from within. I don't know what to do; I just don't understand.
My day drifted by in this unease. I thought about her a lot. I was remembering the day I first saw her. (We had met at the tattoo studio. She passed by wearing a blue suit, her big eyes catching everyone's attention. I watched her walk away, noticing how the other guys in the studio were watching her too. I smiled and went to get some tea.)
I was restlessly waiting for the evening. The studio wasn't busy, so I passed the time by reading Manav Kaul's book How Far is Too Far. I was about to finish it. By the time I reached its final pages, I felt connected to it. The urge to finish the book turned into sadness at its end. I went outside, smoked a cigarette, thought about the book and Sonia for a while, then went back inside to finish reading.
It was 8:00, and I had 10 pages left. I had to reach my room by 9:30 since we talked every day at that time. Sonia messaged, "What are you doing?" I didn't reply; I needed to finish the book first. With thoughts of her still lingering, I started reading again. When I finished, a calm filled me. The book had become a part of me by the end. I kissed the last page and walked to my room, still in the book's trance.
I reached my room, turned on the AC, and lay down, video calling her. Seeing her face, I don't know why I always feel emotional. Her face is so innocent; it brings me a strange peace. My entire being calms, and I feel at ease. We began talking about the events of our day. That silence was still echoing between our words, as if saying, "I'm still here." And suddenly, I realized that our conversation felt like a formality; I found no joy in it. I grew anxious, and she noticed the strain on my face and asked, "What's wrong?" As soon as she asked, I couldn't hold back and told her everything I'd been feeling. It felt like I had been waiting for her to ask so I could spill the poison inside. I told her everything. We both fell silent for a while. My anxiety grew, and I said, "Maybe we should separate." She didn't respond. Maybe she knew I couldn't stay away from her, or maybe she was actually beginning to believe that we should part. I don't know, but she was silent, and I wanted her to say something to make me feel better, to ask me to stay—but she said nothing.
Then she started explaining things, trying to make me understand, though I didn't want to understand. I just wanted to hear something that would fill this emptiness in a moment, to feel that love I usually felt. But nothing like that happened. She kept talking, and my thoughts drifted to the beach where we'd first had a real conversation. (She told me about her college depression and how she'd learned to be happy, leaving behind painful memories. That day, I felt like holding her hand, but I didn't have the courage. Yet somehow, I was sure I'd always keep her happy. I don't know how I had that confidence that we'd be together someday, even though it was only our first day together. She gave me so much peace that day, like I'd finally found someone who, like me, had made mistakes and wanted to start a new story.)
"Are you listening?"
"Yes, yes," I returned from my thoughts.
I don't remember much of what she said, but she managed to make me understand that I had to live with this emptiness for a while, to accept it. I couldn't keep running from it every time it scared me. I went to the terrace, smoked a cigarette, talked to her for a while, and went to bed. She was very sleepy, so she fell asleep on the call. Watching her sleeping face, so innocent, filled me with a deep sense of closeness. Tears welled up as I looked at her, tears that told me how much I love this girl. I don't know what lies ahead, but this can't be the end of our story. There's so much left for us to see and live together. I can't give up at this first hurdle. I don't know what love really means; I don't know why it's necessary. Can I be happy alone? Absolutely, but the peace her presence brings me—I can't imagine finding that in anything else. The happiness of seeing her happy is something I wouldn't feel even in my own joy. My mind feels blank, and I'm so tired; I just want to sleep now. Waiting for the morning, a morning where everything will have resolved itself.