Chapter 6. part 1 until 5
1220 Words
🌙 Part 1: The Uninvited Guests
That evening, the apartment buzzed with an unexpected energy. Qisya stood by the kitchen counter, staring at the clock, her heart thudding with a nervous rhythm. The knock at the door had come earlier than she anticipated. Hariz’s voice, calm and smooth, echoed from the hallway.
“Mak, Ayah… come in.”
Her heart sank.
She wasn’t ready.
In fact, she hadn’t prepared anything special—not mentally, not emotionally. But here they were. Hariz’s parents. Her mother. Even her youngest cousin tagged along, probably bribed with promises of dessert.
The living room was suddenly too small.
“Qisya, darling. You look pale. Are you okay?” Hariz’s mother asked, giving her a warm but too-observant smile.
Qisya forced a grin. “Just a little tired, Mak. Long day.”
Her mother stepped in next. “My poor daughter… barely had time to rest since the wedding.”
Hariz said nothing. He simply motioned for everyone to sit at the dining table, which now looked far too plain. Just two dishes and a jug of water. No flowers. No candles. No warmth.
Hariz’s father cleared his throat as he took a seat. “You two didn’t plan a dinner tonight?”
Qisya exchanged a glance with Hariz.
“We weren’t expecting guests,” she said softly.
Hariz added quickly, “But it’s fine. We’re happy you’re here.”
Happy.
The word echoed in Qisya’s head like a cruel joke.
They were not happy. They were surviving.
⸻
🌙 Part 2: The Performance Begins
Everyone took their seats. Plates clinked. Glasses passed from hand to hand. The air smelled of curry, rice, and politeness. The conversation began lightly—weather, work, the neighbors’ recent wedding. But then, as expected, someone had to ask the dreaded question.
“So, how’s married life?” Hariz’s mother asked, her voice laced with curiosity, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Qisya looked at Hariz, waiting.
He stayed quiet.
She answered instead. “It’s… quiet.”
“Quiet is good,” Hariz finally spoke, reaching for his drink. “Peaceful. We enjoy the silence.”
Silence?
Qisya blinked hard. Yes, there was silence—thick, aching silence that filled their home like fog. The kind of silence that made the walls press in.
Her mother chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh come on. Hariz looks all serious outside, but he’s a softie inside, right, Qisya?”
Everyone laughed. Even Qisya did, although her lips trembled as they curled.
“You planning for children soon?” Hariz’s father asked suddenly.
Hariz nearly choked on his drink. “Uh… no rush. We’re taking our time.”
His mother leaned in. “Don’t wait too long, dear. Cold beds don’t make grandbabies.”
The table erupted into more laughter. Qisya forced another smile, even as her stomach turned. She reached for her glass of water and drank like her life depended on it.
Every question felt like a trap.
Every smile felt like a test.
🌙 Part 3: Behind the Smiles
The dinner dragged on longer than necessary. Qisya caught Hariz stealing glances at his phone under the table. Probably bored. Probably wishing he were anywhere but here.
She tried to laugh at a story her cousin was telling about their childhood, but even that felt fake. Her laughter was hollow, echoing off the empty places in her chest.
“You two should go on a honeymoon,” her cousin suggested with a grin. “Bali? Langkawi? Somewhere romantic.”
“We haven’t planned anything yet,” Qisya replied smoothly.
“No time,” Hariz added. “Work’s been hectic.”
Another lie.
He had time.
He just didn’t want to spend it with her.
Later, when dessert was served—store-bought pudding in plastic cups—Mak Hariz gave Qisya a look of silent judgment.
“You didn’t prepare anything sweet, dear?”
Qisya smiled politely. “We weren’t expecting company.”
A slight pause.
“Well,” Mak Hariz said, adjusting her shawl, “you’ll get used to hosting. A wife’s touch takes time.”
That one stung.
And yet she nodded, playing the obedient bride.
When everyone was done eating, the guests lingered, chatting in the living room while Hariz disappeared to the balcony to take a phone call.
Qisya quietly moved to the kitchen, escaping with the excuse of cleaning up.
She scrubbed dishes slowly, her hands trembling beneath the running water.
⸻
🌙 Part 4: The Cracks Beneath Control
Behind her, she heard footsteps.
“You did well tonight,” Hariz said, voice low.
She didn’t turn around. “You mean I lied well.”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it? A lie.”
Qisya spun to face him, hands still wet, water dripping onto the tiled floor. “It doesn’t have to be.”
He leaned against the doorway, folding his arms. “Yes, it does. You want them to believe we’re happy? Then let’s give them a show.”
Her eyes were filled with hurt. “But what about us? Do we even exist outside of that show?”
He said nothing.
“You only act like a husband when they’re watching,” she whispered. “What about when no one’s looking?”
“I did what I had to,” he said again, like a tired refrain.
“That’s always your answer.” Her voice cracked. “That you had to.”
He stepped closer, his face darkening. “You want the truth? Fine. This marriage is a cage. For me. For you. So stop pretending we’re more than what we are.”
She flinched like his words had slapped her.
“You’re right,” she said, her voice trembling now. “It is a cage. But unlike you, I didn’t choose to keep the key in my hand and refuse to open it.”
His breath caught.
Her gaze was steady. “You’re free to walk away, Hariz. You always have been. So why are you still here?”
Still, no answer.
She shook her head, turned toward the hallway, and paused just before entering their room.
“One day, Hariz… you’re going to wish you had treated me differently.”
Then she walked away, slamming the door behind her—not out of anger, but to hold in the tears.
⸻
🌙 Part 5: Two Strangers, One Marriage
Hariz remained in the kitchen long after she was gone. The silence crept in again—only now it didn’t feel peaceful.
It felt like punishment.
He poured himself a glass of water, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tightly his knuckles went white. Outside the window, the streetlights flickered, but all he could see was her face.
Her words replayed in his head like a haunting melody.
You’re going to wish you had treated me differently.
In their bedroom, Qisya sat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, her eyes blank. Still in her dinner outfit. Still holding herself together.
Barely.
She didn’t cry. Not tonight.
She was too tired for that.
Instead, she lay down, facing the wall. Eyes open. Breathing steady.
Hariz didn’t come in.
And she didn’t expect him to.
They were married.
But they were not together.
Not really.
Not yet.
- Writer
