Game Over

Episode:2

Echoes in Silence

He came home late again—much later than usual. It was almost midnight when he walked in, casually removing his shoes. When she asked where he had been, all he said was, “I was out with my cousin. I told you I’d be back soon.” That “soon” had turned into five long hours.

Throughout those hours, she had called him over and over again. Each time, he answered with the same few tired words: “I’m on my way.” But he never arrived. Not for five hours. And when she called the third time, he snapped, “I told you, didn’t I? I’m coming. Why do you keep asking?”

His tone stung. Something burned inside her.

“Five hours passed. You didn’t even get five minutes to call me calmly and tell me where you were? What were you doing? "When will you be back?” Her voice trembled. His cousin, Faisal, had already left by then. Now it was just the two of them. And silence between them.

She looked straight into his eyes. “Even if I hadn’t called you, it was your duty to call me. I checked my phone a hundred times. I walked around holding it in my hand. My body went numb waiting. And you—you were out shopping with your cousin. You couldn’t even pull the car over, stand at a shop’s corner, and tell me the truth?”

There was fire in her voice. “Am I that old to you now? You didn’t even care if I’d eaten, if I was able to sleep, if I was okay.”

He sighed, running his hand over his face. “I had very little time. We had to leave early in the morning. Believe me, we got so caught up in the shopping, I didn’t even think about it.”

“Don’t tell me how busy you were,” she cut in. “Tell me—was it that hard to take out just one minute for your wife?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. His honesty shocked her more than a lie would have.

That was it. The anger inside her snapped. “You don’t have time for your wife. "That’s the whole truth!” Her eyes filled with tears.

She began to cry softly. “That’s how it always is. "You say one word, and I have to keep quiet. "I get blamed for overthinking.” He moved closer, wrapping his arms around her like a child. He always did this when she cried. “Sometimes, what we say isn’t what we mean.”

“I hear what you say. "I believe what you show.” She pulled away and walked toward the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stepping in front of her.

“I don’t care,” she said.

“You’re angry?” he asked, pointing at her teary eyes.

“You don’t need to care,” she replied, her voice flat.

That night, he kept trying to calm her. He didn’t give up—just like always. Since their university days, this had been his favorite game: convincing her, chasing her, softening her heart. She would get upset over the smallest things, and he would run in circles trying to win her back. And each time, she would forgive—but always on her terms.

“You never back down when you’re angry,” he often said. “I have to chase you every time.”

“And I like that,” she used to reply, half-laughing. “I like it when you chase me. I like it when you ask me a thousand questions to understand why I’m upset. It feels like love.”

He used to ask again and again, “Don’t you ever get tired of playing hard to get?”

“No,” she would say, smiling through her tears. “Every time I get upset, your love becomes something new. That’s how I know you still care.”

Tonight, though, something felt different. There was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. A silence in hers that he wasn’t used to.

“You think I’m just playing with you?” she whispered. “That this is all a silly game?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at her with a softness that had once made her heart skip. “You’re not less than a game. You’re more. But every time you act differently, I feel like I have to create a new way to show my love.”

She looked at him sharply. “So you’re tired of me?”

He paused. “No, I’m tired of feeling like nothing I do is ever enough.”

She shook her head slowly. “That word—‘new’—it bothers me. You seem hungry for it. New experiences. New attention. New emotions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re twisting my words again.”

“No. I’m diving deeper into them. There’s a difference.”

“There’s no deep meaning,” he replied, a bit annoyed. “It was just a sentence.”

“Oh? So that means everything else you say is also just a sentence? Just words? Nothing behind them?”

“I don’t have the brain for all these interpretations,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “But you… You’re always digging.”

“Maybe life taught me to dig deeper,” she replied softly. She rested her hand on the railing beside the stairs, her gaze distant. “You used to send messages to girls. Delete the ones that mattered. You left the basic ones behind. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

He looked startled. “What message?”

“Don’t pretend. You deleted it. But you forgot to delete the delivery report.”

He blinked. Caught.

She exhaled, disappointed. “I always expected you to tell the truth the first time. But you never do. You will wait for me to bring the proof. Only then do you speak.”

“That’s not true,” he defended weakly. “Sometimes I admit it on my own.”

“No,” she said coldly. “You don’t." I make you admit it. That’s different.”