N O O R

I couldn't sleep a wink. It's midnight and Vyom still hasn't come home. Neither was he picking up my calls nor replying to my texts. My mind is running through every worst-case scenario as I can still picture his face when he left. He was upset and I was the reason behind his disappointment. I know no set of reasoning will defend my actions, but it is also true that I was doing all this to set ourselves free from this bond of marriage which is as hollow as our relationship.

The ticking of the wall clock echoes through our empty house. Tick. Tock. Each second stretching into eternity.

I don't remember when the last time was we had a good laugh. I don't remember a single moment when I have seen him smiling since our wedding. 

I was at fault for making wrong assumptions about Vyom. Completely forgetting that it's my Vyom I am talking about. Before becoming my husband, he was my boy. I should have doubted my intentions, not his, who did not think twice before holding my hand in marriage just because my father said so. To find selfishness in this selfless act requires such cynicism, which only I am blessed with.

The more I felt his absence, the more anxious I became. My stomach twisted into knots that tightened with each passing hour. I could not help but dial his number again which transferred to the voice mail. 

I silently promised myself to clean this mess I created. One heart is broken enough, the other does not have to suffer the same agony.

"Just pick it up!" The automatic message was annoying me, and I felt instant relief as I heard the doorbell ring. My heart leapt to my throat—a mixture of relief and dread washing over me like a cold wave.

I threw my mobile on the bed and descended the stairs to the main door, each step heavier than the last. I yanked the door open only to be shocked at seeing my very drunk husband.

He was leaning on the doorframe lazily. The first two buttons of his shirt were opened up, his hair was messy and his eyes were bloodshot red. The sharp smell of whiskey hung around him like an aura. I looked outside to see if anyone had accompanied him but there was no one. Looking at his demeanor, I wondered how he managed to get home on his own. I forwarded my hand to help him straighten his frame but, brushing his shoulder with mine, he entered without exchanging a glance. The brief contact sent a jolt through me—familiar yet foreign.

"Have you seen the time?" I wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him see me. But my voice came out small, brittle. He ignored me and made his way upstairs, each unsteady footstep a thunderclap in the silence.

"Vyom," I called him again but he didn't budge, and alas, all I heard was a loud slam of the door as he entered his room. The sound reverberated through the house, a period at the end of an unfinished sentence.

I was mad at him. True. But at that moment, I felt only remorse hovering over my senses, knowing I was the reason for his condition. 

--

I looked at the door of his room which was still closed. It's 11 A.M. Vyom never sleeps this late. He has this habit of waking early in the morning, but not today. He is getting late for the office. I am sure last night's hangover is not being merciful to him. I was contemplating if I should take the lemonade and medicine to his room but considering yesterday night's stunt I pulled, I knew my face is the last thing he wishes to see right now.

Still, to offer peace from my side, I carried the veg sandwiches made for him and sprinted to his room. I raised my hand to knock at his door but found it already opening.

"Breakfast." My voice died in my throat. What I wanted to say—I'm sorry, I was wrong—remained unsaid. I showed him the plate, plastering a small smile.

He looked at the plate and then looked at me. A cloud of softness hovered over his eyes before he turned back to his poker face. A fleeting moment, there and gone, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds only to be swallowed again by darkness. His silence was making me more nervous. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure he could hear it.

I thought he would respond or say something. Instead, he ignored me and left. The space where he stood still warm, still holding the ghost of his presence.

That moment I knew Karma sure bites your ass back. That moment I realized how he must have been feeling throughout these months when I was giving him cold shoulders for something he never did, unlike me.

It's not going to be as easy as I thought it would be. This bridge between us, built of hurt and misunderstanding, can't be crossed in a single step.

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Tara :)