NOT IN CONTROL
I sat on the chair, leaning forward slightly as I slipped my foot into another pair of shoes, my fingers tightening around the edges as if I could press away the restlessness sitting inside me.
I had come here for something simple—to buy a pair of shoes, to finish a task, to leave. Nothing more. Nothing complicated.
And yet… she was here.
Despite me telling her not to come, despite me making it very clear that I didn’t want her around, she still followed me—claiming she was bored sitting inside my so-called chicken house.
I tried another pair, my focus pretending to be on the fit, on the comfort, on the way the sole touched the ground—but my eyes kept drifting.
To her.
She stood at the far corner of the shop, surrounded by rows of delicate footwear that didn’t belong in my world. Her fingers moved slowly over them.
No.
I am not buying anything for her.
I stood up, adjusting the shoe properly and taking a few steps, testing it. The shopkeeper watched me with quiet anticipation, waiting for my decision as if it held more weight than it actually did.
“It’s perfect. I’ll take this one,” I said.
His face lit up instantly, relief and satisfaction blending together as he quickly packed the shoes into a box, then into a plastic bag, handing it over to me with a polite smile.
I paid him and walked out without another glance.
The air outside felt different—lighter, freer.
I walked toward my bike, parked in the only empty corner, my steps quick, almost eager to leave this place behind.
And then—
It hit me.
I brought a girl with me.
My eyes widened slightly as I turned back toward the shop, my steps already moving in that direction before I even thought it through.
But I stopped midway.
What if I just… leave?
The thought came quietly, almost dangerously calm.
I looked through the glass.
She was still inside.
Unaware.
Lost in her own world, standing among those rows of shoes, completely engrossed, like time had paused for her alone.
If I leave now…
She won’t be able to come back.
She doesn’t have a single penny.
She can’t even walk properly with that injured shoulder.
And my house… is far. Too far from here.
For a moment, I stood there, caught between the urge to walk away… and something I couldn’t quite name that held me back.
I hardened my heart.
She has her phone.
If she wants, she can call her brother and he’ll come rushing in one of his expensive cars, pick her up, and take her back to the world she actually belongs to.
She doesn’t need me.
That thought settled inside me like something final, something I could hold on to.
I let out a slow breath and sat on the bike, my fingers wrapping around the handle as I inserted the key.
Just leave.
It’s that simple.
I turned it slightly, but my eyes… they didn’t stay still.
They kept drifting.
Back to the shop.
Again.
And again.
Like I was waiting for something.
For her to notice.
For her to come out.
For something to stop me.
I don’t know.
I turned the key fully this time.
The engine came to life with a low growl beneath me, the vibration running through my hands, grounding me in the decision I was trying so hard to make.
My grip tightened unconsciously.
My heart… it didn’t feel normal.
It was racing.
Fast. Uneven.
Like I was doing something far more serious than just leaving a person behind.
Like this one moment carried more weight than it should have.
I swallowed hard, my gaze lifting one last time toward the glass doors of the shop.
She was still inside.
Still unaware.
Still trusting the fact that I would be there.
I tore my gaze away from the glass and twisted the accelerator.
The bike lurched forward, cutting through the noise of the street as if I could outrun the weight building inside my chest.
The shop disappeared behind me in seconds.
People, traffic, honking—everything blurred into a restless stream as I rode past it all, faster than I needed to, faster than I should have.
My heart pounded hard against my ribs, each beat louder than the last, like it was trying to say something I refused to hear.
She destroyed my life.
The thought came sharp, unforgiving.
She forced me into this marriage. She stood there, holding my family’s lives in her hands like it was nothing, like it was just another move in whatever game she was playing.
She threatened me.
Cornered me.
Left me with no choice.
Then why…
Why should I care whether she gets home or not?
Why should I turn back for someone who never once thought about what she was doing to me?
I tightened my grip on the handle, my knuckles turning pale.
She’s heartless.
That’s what she is.
And I don’t owe her anything.
Not concern.
Not kindness.
Not even a second glance.
The road stretched ahead of me, open and endless, like an escape I had been waiting for.
But the farther I went…
The heavier it felt.
As the bike carried me farther away from that place, I slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road.
The engine went silent.
But my mind didn’t.
I got down from the bike, my fingers still loosely holding the handle, like I wasn’t ready to let go of anything just yet.
My chest felt… heavy.
Uncomfortably heavy.
Like something was sitting inside it, pressing harder with every breath I took.
I exhaled slowly, but it didn’t help.
My morals—everything I had believed in, everything I had stood for—all of it began to rise inside me, louder than before, refusing to stay quiet.
This is wrong.
The thought didn’t whisper.
It echoed.
You don’t leave someone like that.
Not like this.
Not alone.
Not when you know they can’t make it back on their own.
I clenched my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek as I ran a frustrated hand through my hair.
“But I don’t care,” I muttered to myself, the words coming out harsher than I intended.
I don’t care.
I repeated it again in my head, like saying it enough times would make it true.
Like it would silence everything else.
But it didn’t.
Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself…
Something inside me refused to agree.
I tapped my foot restlessly against the pavement, the rhythm uneven, impatient, like it was trying to match the chaos running inside me.
My teeth found my nails before I could stop myself, biting down until a sharp sting spread through my fingertips.
She must have noticed by now.
She must have turned around, expecting to see me… and found nothing.
Just an empty space where I was supposed to be.
I swallowed hard.
What would she be doing now?
Standing there, confused?
Angry?
Or worse…crying?
I let out a slow breath, dragging my hand down my face.
She didn’t even call me.
I frowned slightly at that.
Wouldn’t anyone call?
Wouldn’t anyone at least try?
Unless…
Does she even have my number?
The question hit me unexpectedly.
I tried to remember—did I ever give it to her?
Did she ever ask?
No.
A strange emptiness settled in my chest at that realization.
Even now…
If she needed me—
She wouldn’t even know how to reach me.
I walked back to the bike, each step heavier than the last, like I was dragging something invisible along with me.
I sat on it and started the engine, the familiar vibration settling beneath my hands.
There were only two options.
Clear. Simple.
Cruel.
I could ride away… go back to my life, to the quiet, to the version of peace I had convinced myself I wanted—even if it lasted just for an hour.
Or—
I could turn back.
Go to her.
Bring her home.
I let out a long breath, my fingers tightening around the handle as the engine hummed, waiting for a decision I didn’t want to make.
And then…
Without thinking any further—
I turned.
The bike took a sharp diversion, the road bending back the way I had come, like it had been waiting for me all along.
I accelerated, faster this time, the wind hitting against me as the streets blurred past.
My heart raced again, but this time…
It felt different.
Not like I was running away.
But like I was chasing something I didn’t fully understand.
The shop came into view sooner than I expected.
She was there, standing right in front of the shop, not moving, not distracted—just standing like she had been waiting.
There was something in the way she looked, something unfamiliar, something that didn’t belong to the sharp, sarcastic woman I had been dealing with all this while. She looked… small. Not physically, but in a way that made my chest tighten before I could stop it.
I parked the bike in front of her, the sound of the engine fading into the noise of the street, but everything around me felt distant compared to the silence that settled between us.
Her eyes found mine, and for a brief second, she didn’t move, as if she needed to make sure I was actually there and not something her mind was playing to comfort itself.
Then she walked toward me.
“Where did you go?” she asked, her voice low and careful.
I swallowed the dryness in my throat and looked away, unable to hold her gaze for more than a second.
“I went to buy something else,” I muttered, the lie coming out smoother than I expected, as if I had already prepared it somewhere inside me.
“Show me what you bought,” she said immediately.
That caught me off guard.
For a moment, I didn’t breathe. My fingers tightened around the handle of the bike as I searched for something—anything—to justify my words, but there was nothing. Because there was no “something else.” Because I had left her there.
I didn’t look at her. I couldn’t.
The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t calm either. It pressed against me, making the air feel heavier than it should.
She didn’t question me again. She didn’t argue, didn’t throw a sarcastic comment, didn’t try to prove me wrong.
After a moment, she moved past me and got onto the bike slowly, her injured hand making even that small action difficult. She struggled, but she didn’t ask for help. She didn’t look at me, didn’t speak, didn’t even sigh in irritation like she usually would.
She just sat there quietly.
I could feel her presence behind me, closer than before.
I started the bike and drove forward.
The road stretched ahead, familiar, ordinary… yet everything felt different.
My chest felt unbearably heavy, like something was pressing against it from the inside, refusing to let me breathe properly. My thoughts were a mess, tangled, overlapping, refusing to settle into anything clear.
What am I even doing with my life?
The question didn’t come gently. It hit me hard, without warning, like I had been avoiding it for too long and it had finally found its way out.
I tightened my grip on the handle, my knuckles turning pale as the wind rushed past me. I had choices. I always believed I did. But somehow, every choice I made lately felt like it was leading me somewhere I never intended to go.
A forced marriage.
A girl I was supposed to hate sitting behind me.
Moments that felt too normal for something that was never meant to be normal.
None of this made sense.
I exhaled slowly, my eyes fixed on the road, but my mind kept drifting back—to the shop, to the way she stood there, to the way she didn’t question me again.
That silence stayed with me.
It clung to me in a way I couldn’t shake off.
And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was in control of anything.