People say love doesn't truly end the moment two people part ways. It stays for a long time . It breathes in silence, in the unspoken words, in the spaces where warmth used to reside. Sometimes. love ends when one keeps waiting for a voice that will never return, yet still answers as if it will be something.
The room was still dark when his phone rang against the wooden side table. Fully asleep , he stretched to grab it without opening his eyes. The familiar ringtone played, the same one that he had sold only for her. His lips bent in a faint smile, almost instinctively.
"Good morning, baby, he whispered, voice raspy from sleep, with a small smile on his face. "I just woke up my alarm . I love you so much dear ."
The ensuing silence was long enough to hurt. And then, there was a voice-deep, male, and heavy with worry.
"Hey Arav." the voice spoke softly. "Come into senses. It's me. Arjun. You're still stuck in her shadow, huh?"
His eyes closed up. The world spun for an instant. He stiffened, phone held against his ear lightly, the smile melting as reality crashed back in. His chest felt like someone had pulled forcely the floor out from under him.
He didn't move. His throat constricted. his hand shaking slightly on the phone.
Arjun's voice went on, firm but gentle. "It's been months , and yet , every morning you take the call as though it's still her. How long will you continue to hurt yourself like this? Try to move on bro . I know it's difficult , but it is the reality ."
He could hear his friend breathing on the other end, the care behind frustration heavy, but the boy didn't respond. He couldn't.
His thumb rested on the screen. He could hear his heart pounding louder than his mind, pounding like a hammer Between his ribs. Then, quietly-without any word at all-he cut the call.
The sound of disconnection rang louder than Arjun's words. He put the phone down, not hard, not harshly just, defeated.
He looked up at the ceiling, his chest heaving and falling with the weight of something unable to explain .
Morning light crept through the curtains, staining lines across the rumpled sheets. He sat up, pushing his hand through his tousled hair, and his eyes landed on the top corner of the room with the little photo frame face down on the shelf.
He couldn't bring himself to look at it anymore, yet he couldn't throw it away either. That photograph still carried the laughter, the eyes, the soft smile that once had been his whole world.
"Old habits," he whispered to himself, voice breaking. "You're gone, but your habits. they still own me. But why did you do it with me ? "
The phone screen lit up again-Arjun calling back. He stared at it until it stopped ringing.
He knew his friend was concerned, knew Arjun was correct, but what could he do? That each morning his body betrayed him. His heart whispered her name before his mind realized the truth? That occasionally he awoke reaching for the other side of the bed to find the empty pillow cold and unfed?
Heaving himself out of bed, he made his way to the window. Outside, the city was coming alive-children giggles on the street, vendors hawking their wares, the faraway thrum of traffic. The world was awake, but his chest was a hollow that felt like someone had scooped out the essential part of him.
He rested his forehead on the glass. The chill nipped into his skin, keeping him anchored. He shut his eyes. recollecting her voice. How she would say "wake up. lazy" with a chuckle in between the words. How mornings never seemed burdensome when she was present.
Now, even the sun seemed oppressive
His phone rang again, this time with a text from Arjun.
"You can keep chopping my calls, but you can't continue chopping the truth. She's not going to come back, brother. Don't get lost holding on to a ghost."
The boy let out a harsh breath, blinking away the wetness accumulating in his eyes. He wanted to yell back through the screen You don't think I know? You don't think I feel every moment of her missing?
But instead, he sat on the edge of his bed, holding the phone hard in his hand, his silence ringing louder than any response.
He had once read that heartbreak wasn't about losing the other: it was about losing the future you had envisioned with them. That was his truth. He wasn't mourning her absence he was mourning mornings that ought to have been. the laughter that ought to have filled his room, the years that ought to have been theirs.
But all he had were echoes.
He spoke her name in a low whisper, as though he was afraid someone would overhear. His chest was tight, and for an instant, he felt her presence the heat of her breath, the outline of her smile.
And nothing more.
Only silence.
For the first time in weeks, he made himself put the phone in the drawer, where it could no longer be seen. His fingers hovered on the handle before he closed it. It was like cheating on her, like murdering a part of himself, but he couldn't continue to begin. Every day with the same hurt.
He was in the center of his room, not knowing what to do next. The emptiness was appalling. like an emptiness stretching in all directions. He could listen to his mother's voice calling from downstairs, but he did not respond. He could not yet.
Instead, he spoke to the silence. " If forgetting you is survival, then let me die remembering."
And with that, he grabbed the photo frame, clutched it close to his chest, and sat by the window where the morning sun was.
He whispered,"Why left me alone? "
To be continued.....