Chapter 6: Trapped Between Walls and Silence
The silence in the Lancaster mansion was different today. Heavier. More suffocating. Elira walked slowly through the hallway, her fingers trailing against the cold marble walls like she was searching for something she'd lost—a version of herself, maybe. One that used to laugh. One that didn't feel so hollow.
The moment she entered their bedroom, Zayn stood near the balcony, his back to her, perfectly still. The wind gently played with the loose ends of his shirt, but he didn't move. He hadn't acknowledged her presence, but Elira had grown used to that. Zayn's silence had become part of her routine—louder than words, colder than winter.
"I made dinner," she said softly, placing her hands in front of her like she was trying to shield her heart. "You didn't eat last night…"
"I wasn't hungry," Zayn cut her off, his voice clipped.
She bit her lip, trying to hold back the emotion swelling in her chest. "Zayn, I—"
"Don't," he snapped, finally turning around. His eyes were cold, unforgiving. "Don't try to act like everything is normal. We both know this marriage is nothing more than a contract."
The words hit harder than she expected. Even after hearing them over and over again, they still stung. "I never said it was normal. But I'm still your wife."
Zayn's jaw clenched. "Not by choice."
Her hands trembled slightly as she whispered, "But you said 'I do.'"
"That was for my father," he said sharply. "And don't you dare twist that into something romantic."
Silence fell again, but this time it was louder than his anger. Elira didn't know what else to say. There were only so many times a person could beg to be seen before they stopped trying.
She turned toward the door.
"Elira," Zayn said, unexpectedly. She froze. "Why do you stay?"
She looked back, tears blurring her vision. "Because I still believe in you. And maybe… because walking away feels more painful than staying."
***
Later that night, Elira sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't know if he'd join her, or if he'd sleep on the couch again. But the soft creak of the bedroom door said he was still awake, still thinking. Maybe struggling, just like she was.
She pulled out a letter from her drawer—the last one from her grandmother. The corners were worn, the ink faded. But the words… they still glowed.
*"Love doesn't always arrive gently, child. Sometimes it has to fight its way through pain, resentment, and silence. But if it's real, it stays."*
Elira held it against her chest, whispering, "Please be real…"
Behind her, Zayn's footsteps paused.
"I heard you crying," he murmured.
She wiped her tears quickly. "I wasn't."
"You were," he said. "You always cry when you read that letter."
She turned slightly, surprised. "So you've noticed?"
"I notice more than you think."
It was quiet again. But something had shifted. Not warmth, not yet. But something less cold.
***
The next morning, Elira found fresh flowers on the breakfast table. There was no note. No apology. But they were her favorite—white lilies.
She smiled softly.
Maybe silence wasn't always empty.
Sometimes… it whispered hope