Doubt in silence
781 Words
The days after the party were heavy with unease. I carried Sussan’s laugh in my head like an echo I couldn’t escape. Once James signs the papers… comfortable forever. Those words replayed each time I saw her smile, each time her hand tightened around mine like a chain.
I tried to push it away. Tried to convince myself I had misheard, or that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded. But the truth gnawed at me. It wasn’t love I saw in her eyes—it was calculation.
---
Sussan, of course, noticed my change in mood.
“What’s wrong with you lately?” she asked one afternoon as we walked through a boutique. She held up a dress against her body, twirling in the mirror. “You’ve been quiet. Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”
I forced a laugh. “No, just tired.”
She arched an eyebrow, studying me the way a predator studies prey. “You better not be having second thoughts, James. We’re meant to be together. Don’t forget that.”
Her tone carried more warning than reassurance.
I nodded, pretending to agree, but inside, my chest felt heavy.
---
That night, as she chatted on the phone with a friend about flower arrangements, I slipped out onto the balcony. The air was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain. I leaned against the railing and let my mind wander where it always did these days—back to Annie.
I pictured her sitting with her books, her brow furrowed in concentration, her lips curved into that soft smile when she caught me staring. I remembered how she listened when I spoke, really listened, as though my words had weight.
With Sussan, my words vanished into thin air. With Annie, they had roots.
I took out my phone, scrolling through old photos until I found one of Annie and me from last summer. She had taken it, laughing as I tried to avoid the camera, her arm around my shoulders. My throat tightened.
I wanted to call her. To apologize. To explain everything. But I had blocked her, and even if I hadn’t, what would I say? “Sorry I abandoned you for someone who doesn’t care about me”? The words felt useless.
Still, her absence ached like a wound that refused to heal.
---
The next morning, David caught me on campus.
“You look terrible,” he said bluntly.
“Thanks,” I muttered.
He studied me with concern. “James, you don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to walk away.”
I shook my head. “Everyone’s expecting it now. My mom, her family, our friends… I can’t just back out.”
“Yes, you can,” David pressed. “It’s your life. Not theirs. Not hers. Yours.”
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe I had a choice. But the weight of expectation pressed down harder than chains. Backing out would mean chaos, shame, disappointment. It would mean admitting I had been wrong from the start.
And I wasn’t ready to face that truth.
---
Later that week, Sussan and I met with a wedding planner. She dominated the conversation, flipping through catalogs of decorations and food. I sat quietly, nodding when she looked at me, though my mind was elsewhere.
At one point, the planner turned to me. “And what about you, James? What do you envision for your big day?”
I opened my mouth, but no words came. What did I envision? Not this. Not any of this.
Sussan laughed, answering for me. “Oh, James just wants me happy. Don’t you, baby?”
Her hand squeezed mine under the table, nails digging into my skin.
I forced a smile. “Yeah. As long as she’s happy.”
The planner smiled warmly, jotting notes. But I saw the flicker in her eyes—the recognition of a man who wasn’t really present.
---
That night, lying awake, I finally admitted the truth to myself:
I didn’t want this wedding.
I didn’t want this life.
And I didn’t want Sussan.
But I didn’t know how to escape.
---
I dreamed of Annie again. In the dream, she stood in a field of sunlight, holding out her hand to me. I reached for her, but just as our fingers touched, Sussan appeared, dragging me back with chains made of gold. Annie’s face faded, and I woke up in a sweat.
Beside me, Sussan slept peacefully, the ring glittering on her finger.
I stared at it, my chest aching, and whispered into the darkness:
“I wish it was her.”
- Writer
