SARAYA’S POV
The line went dead, and I stared at the phone in my hand, my chest heaving as the silence engulfed me. My anger was still burning, but now, it was mixed with something else-something sharp and raw that made my throat ache.
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe he was avoiding me.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw my phone across the room, but I didn’t. Instead, I just held it, staring at the screen where his name still lingered.
“Why am I so unlucky when it comes to the matters of the heart?” I asked soliloquizing.
Here I was, feeling like I was begging for something that wasn’t there. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. Was this really how he felt about me? How easily he could pull away, just when I needed him most? Was I just another thing he couldn’t deal with?
I paced the room, clutching the phone in my hand. I’d never been the kind of person to play games, but that’s what it felt like he was doing. Careful, he called it. But was that really it? Or was he just making excuses to keep his distance?
My mind raced, cycling through every conversation, every touch, every moment we’d shared in the past weeks. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to back away. He wasn’t supposed to make me feel like I was the problem.
I slammed the phone onto the bed, frustration flooding me.
I thought about the way he had been acting, the coldness creeping in over the last few days, the way he is been avoiding my calls and replying my texts late, the way he was always “too busy” to talk. He was shutting me out, and I couldn’t make sense of it.
I wanted to call him back, scream at him, demand answers. But what would that do? Would it make him finally see what he was doing to me? Or would it push him further away?
The anger started to settle, replaced by a deep ache. A longing for him that I didn’t want to feel. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. But I did. More than I should.
I thought about everything we had shared. The way he’d looked at me when we were together. The way his touch had felt when he’d held me. It had been real. It had to be.
But now, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. What if he really did regret it all? What if he was just waiting for an excuse to let go?
I couldn’t keep doing this. I couldn’t keep waiting for him to make up his mind, to decide whether or not I was worth it.
I wiped my face, trying to calm myself down. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. Not when there was still so much at stake. But damn it, the more I thought about it, the more I realized I couldn’t do this alone.
One thing was certain and it was I didn’t want to lose him. But I couldn’t keep chasing after someone who didn’t want to be caught.
And just like that, the weight of everything-the secrecy, the lies, the constant fear of being exposed-came crashing down on me. I didn’t want to fight anymore. I didn’t want to keep asking for his attention, his affection, his validation. I wanted it to be real. I wanted us to be real. But it felt like I was the only one left fighting for it.
The tears I had been holding back finally fell, and I let them. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to be stuck in this limbo with no answers, no direction.
I glanced at my phone again. I wanted to call him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t force him to meet me if he didn’t want to.
***
The table was unusually quiet as we sat down for dinner. The clink of silverware against plates echoed in the otherwise still room. My family was always lively during meals, but tonight, everyone seemed to sense the tension hanging in the air.
I couldn’t help but pick at my food, pushing the pieces around on my plate without really eating. I wasn’t hungry, not with everything swirling in my mind. I could feel my dad’s eyes on me, sharp as ever, and I knew he was waiting for me to say something.
Finally, he broke the silence. “Saraya, what’s wrong?” His voice was soft but firm, his concern evident. “You don’t like the food?”
I paused, looking up at him, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I smiled, forcing the motion even though it felt hollow. “I’m fine, Dad,” I replied, my voice coming out too quickly, too false.
My dad raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You sure? You’ve barely touched your food.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words felt stuck. Instead, I just nodded, not wanting to dive into the mess of thoughts in my head.
But then Evan-who had been unusually quiet, picking at his food without much interest-let out an exasperated sigh and pushed his plate away.
My dad looked over at him. “Evan, why are you messing with your food?”
Evan didn’t look up, his eyes fixed on the table as he folded his arms. “Nothing,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Before anyone could ask again, Isla, ever the quick one, jumped in with a sharp tone. “Maybe he’s still mad at Saraya for breaking her promise.” She glanced over at me with a pointed look, as if the words were a silent accusation.
The statement hung in the air, heavier than I expected. My stomach twisted, and I felt a flush creep up my neck. I tried to avoid everyone’s gaze, focusing on my half-eaten plate of food.
My mind raced back to the fight I’d had with Evan earlier, the one where he’d thrown the hurtful words at me. I could still feel the sting of them. You lied to me. You promised, Saraya. The words echoed in my mind, and I had no defense.
My dad, sensing the tension in the air, shifted in his seat. “What promise, Saraya?” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but there was an edge of concern there.
I bit my lip, wishing I could just make everything disappear. The last thing I wanted was for them to know the full extent of what had been going on between Arlan and me, or the mess I was getting deeper into.
“It’s nothing, Dad. Really,” I said, my voice trembling slightly. “I just-” I stopped, not wanting to explain any more. The last thing I wanted was for them to know that the promise I had broken wasn’t something I could easily take back.
Isla gave me a skeptical look but didn’t push further. Evan, however, was another story. He might be quiet now, but I could feel his eyes on me, the weight of his silence telling me he wasn’t done.
“Whatever,” he muttered again, picking up his fork and shoving the food into his mouth as though the entire meal was just a chore.
The tension hung in the room, and no one spoke for a while. It was like we were all just waiting for the storm to pass, but deep down, I knew there was no escaping it. It was just a matter of time.