Chapter 4: When silence became my answer
875 Words
The morning light felt harsh that day, almost like the sun was punishing me for what I did. My head pounded from the sleepless night, and my heart felt heavier than ever.
I could still hear Kemi’s voice echoing in my mind: “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She didn’t ask where I went last night. She just looked at me with that quiet disappointment that hurts more than anger. The kind of look that says, you broke your own heart and you knew you would.
I told her I just went out for a walk, but she didn’t believe me. She didn’t need to.
All morning, I tried to distract myself. I cleaned the room, folded my clothes, played songs I used to love. But everything seemed to remind me of him his laugh, his words, even the silence between verses of a song.
At some point, I stared at my reflection in the mirror and didn’t recognize myself. My eyes looked tired, swollen, like I hadn’t been sleeping for years. I ran my hand across my cheek and whispered, “You’ll be fine, Amara. You’ll be fine.”
But my voice broke halfway.
Kemi eventually left for the market, leaving me alone. The quietness in the room felt unbearable, so I decided to step out too. I didn’t even know where I was going I just needed air, something different from the memories that haunted the walls.
I walked aimlessly, my slippers dragging through the dusty street, and my thoughts replaying everything from last night. His face. His words. The way he said, “Things just changed.”
Changed.
That one word kept replaying in my head like a curse.
By the time I reached the junction, I decided to stop by a small restaurant where we used to eat sometimes. It wasn’t planned; it just happened. My heart was leading me again foolishly, softly, blindly.
As I entered the restaurant, the smell of fried rice and perfume mixed in the air. I stood at the door for a second, scanning the tables like I was searching for a ghost.
And then… I froze.
He was there.
Sitting at the far end of the restaurant, laughing softly that same laugh that used to belong to me.
But what tore me apart wasn’t just seeing him. It was seeing who sat beside him.
Her name was Anita.
A classmate.
Someone who once told me, “You deserve someone who calls you every day.”
Now, she was the one holding his hand.
For a moment, the world around me went silent. My chest felt like it was collapsing from the inside. I couldn’t breathe. My hands trembled, and the phone I was holding almost slipped from my grip.
He saw me. I know he did. Our eyes met for a brief second. His smile faded, guilt washing over his face. But he didn’t move. He didn’t say a word.
Anita turned, noticed me standing there, and her face went pale. She whispered something to him, and he just nodded, looking away.
That was the moment I realized whatever we had was really gone.
Not just gone… replaced.
I took one shaky step backward, then another. My throat felt dry, and my vision blurred. I turned and walked out before the tears could fall in front of them.
The road outside looked longer than usual. My chest tightened, my breathing uneven. I wanted to scream, to cry, to run but all I could do was walk.
When I got home, Kemi was back. She looked at me once and instantly knew something was wrong.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
I dropped my bag on the floor, trying to keep my voice steady. “You were right, Kemi. I should have stayed home.”
She moved closer, touching my shoulder gently. “You went to see him again, didn’t you?”
I nodded, and that was it. The tears came. Loud, uncontrollable, painful tears. The kind that choke you and make your chest ache.
“I saw him,” I whispered between sobs. “He was with someone else. Someone I know.”
Kemi pulled me into her arms and held me tight. She didn’t say, I told you so. She didn’t need to. Her silence was enough.
I cried until my eyes burned. Until my body felt weak. Until there was nothing left inside me but emptiness.
When the tears finally stopped, I looked at the ceiling and said quietly,
“He stopped calling because he already had someone else to call.”
Kemi didn’t respond. She just held my hand tighter, as if afraid that if she let go, I might break completely.
That night, I lay awake again. The world outside was quiet, but inside me was chaos.
For the first time, I didn’t check my phone. I didn’t wait for a message.
I just stared into the darkness and whispered to myself,
“This is how it feels when love dies quietly.”
And as a single tear rolled down my cheek, I finally realized something I had been too afraid to face
sometimes, closure isn’t found in answers. It’s found in the silence after you stop asking.
- Writer
