BURDEN
I took the pills into my hand, checking them once again like I didn’t trust anything anymore—not the medicines, not her, not even time.
I picked up a glass of warm water and walked toward her.
The strip of tablets that she was supposed to take after lunch still lay there—untouched.
Exactly the same.
My jaw tightened.
I gave her the dinner plate as she sat on the bed, her back resting against the wall like she didn’t have the strength to sit properly.
Without a word, I walked to the window and pushed it open.
The cool night air brushed against my face, but it didn’t calm anything inside me.
Nothing was calm anymore.
“Why are you not taking the pills which should be taken after lunch?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended as I turned back to her.
She didn’t even look guilty.
“I forgot,” she said casually, like it was something small.
I sat on the chair beside the bed, my body still but my mind restless.
She wasn’t taking anything seriously.
Not the medicines.
Not even… herself.
After she finished her dinner, I made sure she took the pills the doctor had given her, watching her like I couldn’t trust even a second to slip past.
She scrunched her nose immediately, her face twisting at the bitterness of the medicine.
“Mr. Justice saviour,” she called.
“Don’t ask anything ridiculous,” I said even before she could continue, already knowing her.
She grinned—shameless, unaffected.
“When have I ever asked something normal?” she said, her voice light.
I didn’t respond.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
She leaned back slightly, her eyes finding mine again.
“What is your dream in life that you haven’t achieved?” she asked.
I paused.
Then looked at her.
“What is yours?” I asked instead.
She didn’t even think.
“Dying without getting married… but couldn’t achieve it,” she said casually.
I stared at her.
Then shook my head, letting out a quiet breath.
“Ridiculous,” I muttered.
She ignored that completely.
“What’s yours?” she asked again, this time shaking my shoulder lightly like she wouldn’t let me escape.
I leaned back in the chair, my gaze drifting toward the open window where the night sat quietly outside.
“Building my own house,” I said slowly, “and living happily with my family.”
The words felt simple.
But somewhere inside they carried more weight than I showed.
For a moment, she didn’t say anything.
And that itself felt unusual.
“I was the reason you couldn’t achieve that,” she said softly, her voice losing its usual playfulness.
I turned my head toward her immediately.
I frowned, my brows pulling together as I looked at her.
“Why are you saying that?” I asked.
She didn’t hesitate.
“Your family hates you now,” she said quietly. “And you couldn’t live with them happily. And I’m increasing your expenses because of my ridiculous medical bills.”
I exhaled heavily, the sound leaving me slower than I intended.
“I am always a burden to others,” she added, her eyes finally meeting mine, steady but empty in a way I didn’t like.
“You are not a burden,” I said immediately.
She kept looking at me.
Like she was waiting for me to take it back.
“Don’t say things just to make me feel better,” she said.
“I’m not,” I replied, my voice firm this time.
“I’m saying what’s true,” I said slowly.
She didn’t look convinced.
“If you were a burden,” I continued, my voice quieter now, “I wouldn’t be sitting here worrying about whether you took your medicine or not.”
“I wouldn’t be arguing with you every day,” I added.
“And I definitely wouldn’t be…” I stopped.
She waited.
“…teaching you how to ride my bike,” I finished instead.
A small silence settled again.
She didn’t say anything after that.
But I saw it—
That small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Soft.
Unintentional.
And for some reason…
My heart reacted to it before I could.
A strange flutter, pressing against my ribs like it didn’t belong to me.
I looked away immediately.
Before I could understand it.
Before I could feel it too much.
“After I leave…” she started quietly.
The words alone were enough to make my jaw tighten.
“You can take the bed and sleep here peacefully instead of that cold floor,” she continued, her voice light—too light.
Like she was talking about something normal.
Something ordinary.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” she added, picking at the bedsheet absently. “And you won’t get unnecessary tantrums about your bland food.”
I stayed silent.
But inside—
Something twisted.
Every word she said felt like she was slowly removing herself from my life.
Step by step.
Like she had already accepted it.
Like she had already started leaving.
I leaned back in the chair, my fingers curling slightly against the armrest.
“Stop planning your exit like it’s a schedule,” I said finally, my voice low.
She glanced at me.
“You’ll be more peaceful without me,” she said softly.
I let out a short breath.
“Peaceful?” I repeated.
I shook my head slightly, a faint, almost tired smile pulling at my lips.
“This house will be dead silent,” I said.
“You can go back to your parents,” she said.
I let out a dry chuckle, shaking my head slightly.
“As if they’ll happily welcome me,” I muttered.
She didn’t react to the sarcasm.
“Don’t worry,” she continued casually, like she had already planned everything. “After our divorce, I’ll go to them and tell the truth… that you were forced into this marriage.”
My jaw tightened.
“We’ll give you enough money to compensate for this one year,” she added.
Something in me snapped at that.
“I don’t want your money,” I said immediately, my voice sharper than before.
She looked at me, unbothered.
“I owe you that,” she said simply.
I leaned forward slightly, my hands clasping together as I stared at the floor for a second before looking back at her.
“Owe me?” I repeated, a faint disbelief in my tone.
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“For everything,” she said. “For staying. For tolerating me. For dealing with all this.”
I let out a breath, running my hand through my hair in frustration.
“I don’t want your money. You don’t need to give me anything,” I said.
She studied my face for a moment, like she was trying to read something I wasn’t saying.
“Then what do you want instead?” she asked.
I looked away.
Because the answer came too quickly.
Too clearly.
My mind started painting an image of my life after she leaves.
The empty stair at the doorway.
The bike standing untouched.
The house… too quiet.
No voice.
No chaos.
No her.
Just silence sitting in every corner like it belonged there.
My chest tightened at the thought.
I just wanted her to stay a little longer.
Just… a little more time.
But I couldn’t say that.
I didn’t have the right to say that.
And even if I did—
She wouldn’t stay.
I swallowed those thoughts down, forcing my face back into something neutral.
“You can't give what I want,” I said finally.
She frowned slightly.
“What is it?”
I glanced at her for a second, then looked away again, my fingers tightening unconsciously.
“You can’t fulfill that… so don’t ask,” I said, my voice quieter than before, like even the words themselves didn’t have the strength to stand.
“Is it that expensive?” she asked.
A dry, almost broken chuckle slipped out of me.
“Very expensive,” I said.
“So expensive that I can’t buy it with my money?” she asked again, still trying to make sense of something that could never be explained.
My eyes burned instantly.
I turned away before she could see it—before she could read what I was failing to hide.
“Yes,” I said, staring at the floor like it could hold me together.
Because how do I tell her…
That what I want is not something she can pay for, not something she can return, not something that can be settled between us like a debt that needs to be cleared before walking away.
I was just living my life before this—
Quietly.
Endlessly.
Living without purpose, without excitement, without expecting anything more than another day passing just like the previous one, surviving in a world that never felt like it belonged to me, but still choosing to exist in it because that was easier than questioning why I was even here.
And then she came—
Not gently.
Not beautifully.
She came into my life like a disruption, like something I didn’t ask for, with threats, with a marriage that I never wanted, with a presence that felt suffocating in the beginning, loud and irritating and impossible to ignore.
But somewhere—
Somewhere between her endless talking, her ridiculous arguments, her careless laughter, and the way she filled every empty corner of this house without even trying—
She became something else.
Someone else.
Someone I didn’t realize I had started holding onto.
Someone I… didn’t want to let go.
And I don’t even know what this feeling is.
Is it just attachment?
Is it just the fear of being alone again?
Or is it something deeper that I am too afraid to name—because naming it would make it real, and reality is something I know I won’t get to keep.
Because when she leaves—
She will go back to her life.
Her world.
And slowly, with time, she will forget this.
Forget this house.
Forget these moments.
Forget me.
Maybe not immediately.
Maybe not completely.
But enough.
Enough for me to become just another passing phase in her life.
But me—
I won’t have that luxury.
I will stay here.
In this same house.
With the same walls.
With the same silence that will feel louder than ever before.
Because this time—
It won’t be the same silence I was used to.
This time, it will be filled with everything she left behind.
Her voice that once echoed here.
Her laughter that once annoyed me.
Her presence that once felt like chaos… but somehow became comfort.
And slowly—
I will shrink back into that loneliness again.
Piece by piece.
Trying to become the person I was before she came.
But failing.
Because once you know what it feels like to not be alone…
You can never go back to being okay with it.
I looked back at her.
She was sitting there quietly, her head lowered, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the edge of the bedsheet as if she was trying to keep herself occupied with something—anything—so she wouldn’t have to look up.
For once… she wasn’t talking.
No teasing.
No questions.
No noise.
And somehow—
That silence from her felt heavier than anything she had ever said.
My chest tightened as I watched her like that.
So close.
Right in front of me.
Yet already… feeling distant.
Like she had started pulling away even before leaving.
And I—
I was just sitting there, completely lost.
Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to move on from her.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to that life where she didn’t exist in it.
To wake up in a house that won’t have her voice filling it.
To live… like none of this ever happened.
Because it did happen.
She happened.
And she didn’t just pass through my life—
She stayed.
She changed things.
She changed me.
And now…
I don’t know how to undo that.
I don’t know how to erase the habit of looking for her in every corner.
The habit of listening for her voice.
The habit of… wanting her around.
I don’t know how to go back to being okay with being alone—
Because I am not okay with it anymore.
And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.
She came into my life without asking—
But she’s going to leave it…
Taking a part of me with her.