Her face carried a shadow of sadness, yet there was a quiet acceptance in her eyes, as though she'd already made peace with the truth.
I was stunned. My lips trembled as I searched for words, caught off guard by the certainty in her voice. Why was she so sure?
"For real?" I managed to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze locked onto mine, sharp and unwavering.
"Do you want another alternative? Another possibility?"
"No!" I blurted, the word escaping before I could think it through.
She hesitated, as if weighing whether to say more, as if unveiling the rest of the story would burden the silence even further. Finally, her shoulders dropped, and she let it out.
"He cheated on me. Nothing has changed."
"Oh, but can't you forgive him? Just this once?"
"I did," she admitted, her voice low, almost a whisper. "But it meant nothing. And being with him after… it only filled me with shame."
"How could that be?" I asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
She hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands as if they held the answers she couldn't put into words.
"Things aren't as simple as they seem. You can't understand it just from what's on the surface."
"I…" I paused, searching her face, my own voice softening. "I really want to understand. Could you tell me? Share some details—why it hurt you so much, why it brought you so much pain?"
She placed her fork and spoon gently on the table, the faint clink breaking the tension that had thickened the air between us. My hands trembled, and a cold dread spread through my chest. Would she be furious? Would she tell me to leave and never come back?
"I can't tolerate this cheating, honestly." she said, her voice sharp but trembling, as though the weight of her own words was too much to bear.
Her lips quivered as she struggled to continue. I could see it was painful for her to even utter the next words.
"It's okay. Don't say it," I cut in, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I knew… I already knew."
She hesitated, then dropped the truth like a stone into the silence.
"She's my cousin. She's in her early twenties."
I stared at her, stunned, my mind a blur of confusion and disbelief. How was I supposed to respond to something like this?
"I'm so sorry," I murmured at last, though the words felt insufficient, feeble.
I wanted to say more, to offer her some kind of comfort, but my throat felt tight, as if the very air I needed had been stolen. Her pain was written in her eyes, deep and raw, like an unhealed wound. It was clear—there was no going back from this moment.
But still, something inside me refused to let go. There was more to her anguish, more than what she had said.
I could feel it, like a second weight pressing down on her, something she hadn't yet shared. My instinct wouldn't let me turn away, not yet.
If she had already forgiven him, if he truly meant so little to her now, there was no way her torment could be so profound. Her anguish didn't stem solely from the betrayal or the suffocating toxicity of their relationship.
Those wounds might have been a trigger, but something deeper, something heavier, was pressing down on her spirit.
Her family issues linger in my mind, refusing to be dismissed. There's something else—something far more devastating—that's breaking her fragile heart, something she hasn't found the strength to escape.
Her parents summoned her back to Siem Reap, and I can't shake the feeling that it's tied to a burden she's unwilling to confront.
Could it be a forced marriage? Could Hak Seng be involved again? With his talk of responsibilities lingering in my head! Or perhaps it was someone else—a person she didn't love, a future she never chose. These were the only possibilities I could feel brewing in the silence.
"I didn't think of any other choice," she said quietly, her voice heavy.
"And my parents will be here soon." She continued.
"What do you mean? Bring you back and tie the knot?" I asked, though I already feared the answer.
She looked right through me, her eyes clouded with sorrow, and for a moment, it was as if the weight of the world pressed against her. Her words landed exactly as I had feared, confirming the unspoken dread that had been growing inside me.
"For now, I think it's best if you rest a little more. Take it easy, don't overthink things," I said, my voice gentle, laced with concern.
She nodded, a soft, wordless acknowledgment.
"You have your own life to live. You're not carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, not even the burdens of your family. You didn't have to bear it all alone,"
I continued, watching her closely, hoping my words would reach her.
She absorbed the silence, hanging on every word, and I pressed on.
"We can't please everyone. What have you done to deserve this kind of pressure?"
At that, she could no longer keep her composure. Her tears—those silent witnesses of her torment—began to fall, one by one. She sobbed uncontrollably, a raw, painful release.
She stood up abruptly, wiping her eyes, and walked toward her bedroom door. Without a second thought, I followed her, my steps quickening, desperate not to let her face this alone.
She reached for the door, intent on shutting it as quickly as she could, but I stopped her in that instant. My hands found her waist, and I pulled her into my embrace from behind, my chest pressing gently against her back.
"I've spent so many years blaming myself for my father's death," I confessed, my voice thick with regret. "I shut myself off, retreating from everything, from everyone. I couldn't face the truth, and I was losing... losing myself in it all."
Her breath hitched, a quiet sob escaping her lips, though she tried to muffle it.
I held her a little closer, unwilling to let her slip away.
"I've carried this weight for so long," I continued, the words slipping out in a quiet rush. "Living in constant regret, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't bring him back. I couldn't change what happened."
I tightened my hold on her, each word a heavy release, the silence between us thick with the unspoken pain we both carried.
"Please, Solin," I pleaded, my voice thick with desperation. "I beg of you—let go of the burden. Forgive yourself, for every mistake, every misstep. Forgive yourself for not knowing better, for not seeing things as you do now. Don't torment yourself when you see your parents. Just be who you are—tell them what's in your heart, what you truly desire…"
She didn't respond, only wrapped her arms around mine in a silent gesture, before turning and retreating into her room. The door clicked shut behind her, and I stood there, frozen in place for a long moment, the weight of my words lingering in the empty air.
Continued...