"We stand at the edge of something fragile, both too afraid to reach out for the other."

~Unknown

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The sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. I woke up to an empty bed. The sheets beside me were cold, a clear indication that Amira had been up for a while. I blinked against the brightness, my mind slow to register the silence around me. The familiar ache in my chest returned, heavier than before. Every morning for the past two days had started like this: waking up alone, the warmth that had once started to grow between us now fading with every passing day. The weekend I spent away from her and she away from me. We barely talked.

I sat up, rubbing my face with both hands. My thoughts immediately returned to the conversation we had — the unspoken agreement about divorce. I hated how the word lingered between us like a thick, suffocating fog. I had agreed to move forward with it, even though deep down, it was the last thing I wanted. Yet, the silence between us was unbearable now. Each day, we moved around each other like strangers again, both avoiding the inevitable.

I got out of bed, dressed, and sat on the couch with my laptop. It was easier to distract myself with work than face the growing emotional chasm between us. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but my mind refused to focus on the numbers and reports in front of me. Every time I tried to work, all I could think about was her.

How she had started laughing with me, sharing moments that felt real. And how quickly all of that had slipped away the moment the divorce papers became real.

The sound of soft footsteps broke through my thoughts. I glanced toward the door as Amira entered the room. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she moved quietly, not looking at me, just going about her business. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Every word felt like it would break the fragile silence between us. I turned back to my laptop, pretending to focus on work, even though I couldn't concentrate. The distance between us felt like an ocean I had no idea how to cross.

As soon as she finished, she left the room without a word. I sat there for a moment, staring at the empty space she left behind. A part of me wanted to stop her, to say something—anything—but I couldn't. The words felt stuck in my throat, weighed down by the heavy misunderstanding between us.

After a few minutes, I grabbed my things and decided to leave. Breakfast could wait. I didn't want to sit at the table with her and pretend like everything was fine. It was easier to just leave early for the office, bury myself in work, and hope that the day would pass quickly.

As I made my way to the front door, Maa called out from the dining room, her voice warm but curious.

"Ali, breakfast is ready. Why don't you join us?"

I hesitated, the weight of her invitation pressing against the knot in my chest. I couldn't face the thought of sitting across from Amira right now, pretending like things hadn't spiraled into this mess.

"I'll pass today, Mom," I replied, forcing a smile as I turned to face her. "I've got a lot of work piling up at the office. Need to get a head start."

Ayesha frowned, concern etched on her face. "You've been skipping breakfast for 2 days now. You need to take care of yourself."

"I'll grab something at the office, don't worry," I lied smoothly, adjusting my bag on my shoulder. "Really, I'm fine."

She studied me for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly, but she didn't push further. "All right, but make sure you eat something. You look tired."

I nodded quickly, grateful she didn't ask more questions. "Will do, thanks."

Without waiting for another exchange, I headed out the door. The last thing I needed was to linger any longer, to feel the tension between Amira and me seep into every corner of the house. This was easier. Distance was easier.

At the office, I threw myself into work, trying to drown out the nagging thoughts about Amira. But even here, I couldn't escape them. Every report, every phone call seemed like a reminder of what was falling apart at home.

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In the afternoon, Samad Bhai walked into my office, his face showing the same concerned look he had been giving me for 2 days. I could tell he wanted to talk. He'd noticed the change in me, the way I had been distant and irritable lately. But I wasn't in the mood for one of his concerned brotherly talks.

"You alright, Ali?" Bhai asked, closing the door behind him. "You've been off for days now. What's going on?"

I clenched my jaw, feeling the frustration building up inside me. I didn't want to talk about this with him. Not now. Not ever. "I'm fine, Bhai," I said, keeping my tone clipped. "Just busy."

He didn't buy it. "Look, I know something's wrong. If it's about Amira, maybe—"

"Stop," I cut him off, sharper than I intended. I saw the surprised look in his eyes, but I couldn't hold back the irritation. "This isn't about you. Or anyone else. So just... stop interfering between me and Amira."

The words left my mouth before I could think them through. I didn't mean to lash out at him, but the frustration had been boiling under the surface for days now. And a part of me was angry at him. If he hadn't interfered, maybe things would've been different. Maybe I wouldn't have overheard that conversation. Maybe I wouldn't be drowning in this confusion, thinking Amira wanted a divorce. Heck, I wouldn't even get an idea of a divorce. Hadn't she talked to him, maybe she would have talked to me and we could find some solution.

Bhai looked at me, taken aback, but he didn't push any further. "Fine," he said quietly, standing up. "But if you ever want to talk... I'm here." He left my office without another word, and I was left sitting there, feeling like I had just pushed away the one person who might have been able to help.

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By the evening, the tension inside me had grown unbearable. I couldn't go home. I couldn't face Amira. Not with everything unsaid between us, not with the distance that seemed to grow with every passing moment. So, instead, I ended up at a bar. I hadn't planned on drinking, but after a couple of glasses, the alcohol dulled the edges of my frustration.

I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling slightly as I called Asif. He was the only person who used to drink with me.

When Asif arrived, I was already a few drinks in. He slid into the seat across from me, eyeing the half-empty glass in my hand. "You're drinking alone? That's never a good sign. I thought you had quit since you haven't been going to the bar for a while now," he said, raising an eyebrow.

I let out a bitter laugh. "It's not exactly been a good few days."

"What's going on?" he asked, motioning to the bartender for a drink. "Is this about that girl, again?"

I didn't answer right away. The alcohol had loosened my tongue, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to talk about it. Still, the words slipped out before I could stop them. "I tried, Asif. I really did. I wanted to change things, to make it work. But... it's useless." I took another sip of my drink, feeling the familiar burn down my throat. 

Asif leaned back, his expression unreadable. "What did she do?"

I shook my head, staring into the glass. "Nothing. I am leaving her. We can't keep going like this."

Asif stayed silent for a moment, watching me.

"I heard her," I continued talking, my voice slurred slightly. "She was talking to Samad bhai. She thinks it's the best option. Maybe she's right. Maybe divorce is the only way."

Asif sighed, his tone sharpening. "Ali, we should leave. You're half wasted."

"I tried," I snapped, my frustration spilling over. I don't even remember why I was telling him. Maybe because he was my best friend. Maybe because he used to know everything about me. "I've been trying to get close to her, to fix things, but every time I think we're making progress, something pushes us back."

Asif shook his head, looking at me with a mixture of anger and concern. "You need to get home. This isn't the place to figure it out. And mind it Ali. It is not your work to fix anything. She should fix herself to be acceptable for you. Now let's get you back home."

I didn't argue. The alcohol was making it hard to think clearly, and the conversation was only making me feel worse. Asif helped me to my feet, guiding me out of the bar.

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By the time we got home, it was late. Asif helped me to the door, but the moment we stepped inside, I could see Amira standing in the hallway, her eyes wide with surprise.

Asif glared at her. "This is what you're doing to him?" he spat, his anger barely contained. "He's drinking himself stupid because of you!"

He slapped her tightly as she reached out to hold me. He raised his hand again. I could see the hurt flash across Amira's face, but before she could say anything, I stepped in front of her, my movements unsteady but determined. I tried to hide her behind me and I felt her holding me to stabilize me. "Don't," I slurred, my hand reaching out to steady myself against the wall. "Don't... you dare... hit her. Leave"

Asif looked at me, his frustration and shock evident, but he didn't argue. Once he was gone, Amira stepped forward, her eyes filled with worry. "Ali... what happened?" she asked softly, her voice trembling.

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to confess everything—the way I felt, the confusion, the regret. But the alcohol was clouding my mind, making it hard to find the right words.

"I... wanted to change," I mumbled, swaying slightly. "Wanted... to fix things. But it's all... useless."

She reached out to steady me, her touch gentle. "Ali, you're drunk. You need to rest."

I tried to focus on her face, tried to say what I had been holding in for so long. "I don't want..." The words were on the tip of my tongue, but my body was betraying me. The room spun, and before I could finish, the darkness crept in, pulling me under.

The last thing I felt was her hand on my arm, steadying me as I fell into unconsciousness.

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Diary Entry - [30.09.23]

Dear Diary,

Today was strange. No, not just strange—heavy. Heavy in a way I can't quite explain. The air feels different in the house, like something important is slipping away, and I can't seem to stop it.

Ali didn't even stay for breakfast this morning. I woke up early, as usual, and went through my routine, hoping we might share a quiet moment over breakfast. But he left before I could even say good morning. I know things between us have been strained, but... this felt different. He barely looked at me. It was like I wasn't even there.

When Ayesha aunty called him for breakfast, I thought he might at least stay for her. But he brushed her off too, and gave some excuse about work. I could see the concern in her eyes, but she didn't push him. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, to find out if we were okay, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything. I just stood there, pretending not to care. But the truth is, I do care. I care so much that it hurts.

He got drunk after a long time. Bhai slapped me and even when he was drunk, he looked after me. Stopped Bhai from slapping me. I got him to his bed, but I couldn't figure out what he was wanting to say.

Ever since that night—the night we decided on the divorce—it feels like we've been walking on glass. I thought agreeing to the divorce would bring us some kind of closure, that maybe we could stop pretending to care, and yet... I find myself wishing we hadn't made that choice.

The week after the lake, things felt almost normal between us. We were closer, more at ease. I caught myself hoping, imagining that maybe we could build something real together. But those hopes crumbled when I found the papers. Now, all I feel is regret.

Regret for not saying what I really felt. For not telling him that I don't want this divorce, that I want us to try—to really try. But every time I think about saying those words, fear grips me. What if he doesn't feel the same? What if he's only been pretending, just like I've been pretending that I'm fine with everything?

And then today, he didn't even look at me. It's like he's already checked out, like this is already over in his mind. Maybe he's just waiting for me to say it, to finally break the silence and make it official.

I don't know what to do. I thought the distance would help, that it would make this easier, but it's only making me feel more lost. Every moment we spend apart, I feel like I'm losing a piece of him, a piece of us, if there even is an "us" anymore.

I wish I could be braver. I wish I could stop overthinking everything and just talk to him. But I'm scared. Scared that if I tell him the truth, he'll confirm my worst fears—that he never really wanted this marriage, that he's been ready to let me go for a long time.

Maybe tomorrow will be different. Maybe tomorrow I'll find the courage to say something. Or maybe tomorrow will just be another day of silence, another day of pretending.

I don't know how much longer I can keep pretending.

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To clear: Why he is with Asif: As shown in the beginning, Ali often used to drink with him. Asif used to bring Ali home, and that was also mentioned in the beginning and in the chapter containing Ali's POV. So when he was drinking, he did not consider that Asif was the one he didn't like currently. He was stressed up, and the first person who came to his mind was his childhood best friend, Asif.