Subtle Unease
1167 Words
The days that followed felt like sand slipping quietly through Hannah’s fingers, soft, ordinary, and deceptively calm. Nothing catastrophic happened; no storms gathered, no great arguments erupted, and no harsh words were exchanged. And yet, something in the air pressed lightly against her chest, an invisible weight that grew heavier each morning.
It began with little things.
Small, almost unnoticeable shifts in Abel’s behavior.
The first sign appeared on a crisp Wednesday morning. Hannah woke earlier than usual, the sky still painted with the pale blue of dawn. She reached out instinctively to the other side of the bed, expecting to feel Abel’s warmth, the rhythm of his slow, steady breaths. Instead, she found an empty space, cold sheets, untouched.
She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Abel?” she called softly.
No response.
She wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself and went into the living room. Abel sat on the sofa, fully dressed, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen reflected sharply off his eyes, giving him a distant, unreadable expression.
“You’re up early,” she said, forcing a sleepy smile.
He clicked off the screen quickly,
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She walked toward him and leaned down to kiss his cheek, but he turned, making the kiss land awkwardly near the corner of his jaw.
Hannah froze.
It was small.
Tiny.
Barely noticeable.
But she noticed.
Still, she pretended she didn’t.
“Want breakfast?” she asked.
“No.”
He didn’t look at her when he said it.
A gentle wave of confusion passed through her, but she swallowed it. One strange morning didn’t mean anything… right? People had off days. Maybe he’d slept badly. Maybe he had work stress. Maybe she was thinking too deeply into it, as she had once or twice before.
Yes. That was it.
It had to be.
She made coffee anyway, because she always did, and placed a cup in front of him. He barely glanced at it. Instead, he stood abruptly, kissed her quickly on the forehead, too quick, too distracted, then murmured something about an errand and left the apartment.
The door clicked shut.
Silence filled the space behind him.
Hannah stood in the empty living room, staring at the untouched coffee cup, the steam swirling upward like a small ghost trying to escape the mug.
Something isn’t right, she thought.
But she pushed the thought away, burying it beneath her morning routine.
The second sign arrived on Friday.
Fridays had always been “their day.” No matter how busy the week got, how overwhelming work could be, or how exhausted they felt, they always spent Friday evenings together. It was a ritual—movies, snacks, silly arguments about what to watch, and sometimes late-night dancing in the kitchen when the mood was right.
But that Friday, Abel texted her at 5:42 p.m.
“Can’t make it tonight. Going out with the boys.”
That didn’t bother her at first. Abel had his own life outside their relationship; she encouraged it. But what unsettled her wasn’t the change of plans, it was the tone.
Short.
Dry.
Unlike him.
Hannah typed back:
“Okay. Be safe babe”
The message delivered.
But it was never read.
An hour passed. Then two.
Still unread.
She tried calling once, not to disturb him, just to hear his voice.
He declined immediately.
A cold ripple moved through her.
Still, she told herself:
He’s with friends.
He’s busy.
It happens.
Around 10:30 pm., she texted again.
“Goodnight. Miss you.”
But again, unread.
She sat on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, the soft hum of the television filling the quiet. A romance film played idly in the background, but she couldn’t focus. Her eyes drifted constantly to her phone, waiting for the screen to light up.
It stayed dark.
Later that night, the rain began. It tapped against the windows gently at first, then harder, as though echoing her unsettled heartbeat. She curled further into the blanket, hugging herself.
Why do I feel like this? she asked quietly inside her mind.
Why am I suddenly worried?
She had no answer.
All she had was a creeping sense of distance, thin at first, almost like fog, but growing denser each day.
Abel returned close to midnight. She heard the door creak softly, his keys jingling as he tossed them on the table. Hannah sat up slightly.
“You’re back,” she said softly.
Abel’s eyes were red, not from crying, but from something else. He smelled faintly of alcohol and a perfume she didn’t recognize. A floral scent. Sweet. Too sweet.
Her heart skipped.
He didn’t sit beside her.
Didn’t kiss her.
Didn’t even reach out for her hand.
Instead, he muttered, “I’m tired,” and disappeared into the bathroom.
Hannah stared at the doorway long after he vanished.
Her chest tightened.
Something is wrong.
The third sign came on Sunday.
They had planned to visit her parents that afternoon, but Abel canceled only an hour before.
“Not feeling it,” he texted. “Tell them I’m busy.”
But he wasn’t busy.
She knew he wasn’t.
When she returned home later that day, after apologizing on his behalf to her mother, she found Abel in the exact spot she’d left him—on the couch, scrolling through his phone, expression blank.
“Abel?” she said gently. “Can we talk?”
He didn’t look up.
“About what?”
“Us.”
That made him pause.
He lowered the phone, sighing as if she were an inconvenience.
“What about us, Hannah?”
Her stomach twisted.
She forced her voice to be steady.
“I feel like something’s wrong. You’ve been distant. Quiet. Different.”
He stared at her for a long moment, eyes unreadable.
Then he shrugged.
“You’re overthinking.”
“Am I? Because it feels”
“Hannah.” He raised his voice slightly, not enough to yell, but enough to sting. “Not everything is about you, okay? I’ve got my own stuff going on.”
She froze.
The words hit her harder than she expected.
Not everything is about you.
He’d never spoken to her like that.
Not in five years.
Her throat tightened. “I didn’t say everything was about me. I’m just… asking. That’s all.”
“Well don’t ask.”
He stood, walking past her.
Hannah turned slowly, stunned.
“Abel, wait.”
He stopped.
Barely.
She took a breath.
“I love you. I just want to know what’s going on.”
He exhaled sharply.
“I’m fine. You worry too much.”
Then he left the room.
Hannah stood there for a long moment, feeling the space between them widen like a quiet c***k forming in the wall.
A c***k she didn’t know how to fix.
A c***k she hoped wasn’t real.
But deep in her heart…
She feared the truth.
It was real.
And it was growing.
- Writer
