The Man Who Never Said Sorry
903 Words
By the time I started understanding what was happening between us…
It was already happening.
That is the thing about emotional distance.
It does not announce itself.
It grows quietly until you realize you are standing alone inside something that still has two names attached to it.
Mussa and I were still “together.”
At least on paper.
But emotionally… I was starting to feel like I was in a relationship with silence.
⸻
I began noticing patterns.
Whenever something went wrong, it was never addressed.
It was avoided.
If I was hurt, the topic changed.
If I expressed confusion, I was told I was overthinking.
If I needed reassurance, I was told I was “too emotional.”
But what stayed constant… was his inability to apologize.
Not once.
Not even for small things.
At first, I thought maybe it was pride.
Or personality.
Or maybe he just did not like conflict.
But slowly I realized something deeper.
He was not avoiding conflict.
He was avoiding responsibility.
⸻
One evening, I decided to test something without even realizing I was testing it.
He had ignored my messages all day again.
Nothing new.
But this time, I did not call immediately.
I waited.
And when he finally responded late at night, he acted like nothing had happened.
“Hey,” he wrote.
Just that.
No explanation.
No acknowledgment.
And something in me snapped quietly.
I replied:
“You didn’t talk to me the whole day.”
Minutes passed.
Then he replied:
“I was busy.”
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed again:
“I understand you are busy, but a simple message would be enough.”
This time, his response came colder.
“You are making a big deal out of nothing.”
⸻
Nothing.
That word stayed with me.
Because to him… my emotional experience was nothing.
Not important enough to address.
Not important enough to repair.
Not important enough to even acknowledge.
⸻
That night, I called Linah.
I don’t even remember starting the conversation.
I just remember my voice sounding tired.
“I think I’m losing myself,” I said.
There was silence on her side.
Then she replied softly:
“No. You already started losing yourself a long time ago. You are just noticing it now.”
That sentence hit me in a place I didn’t know was open.
——
The next few days felt heavier.
I stopped sending long messages.
Not because I was okay.
But because I was tired of being ignored emotionally.
And something strange happened.
The less I reached out… the more he noticed.
“You are quiet,” he texted one day.
I replied:
“Just busy.”
He responded:
“You are different.”
And I remember thinking…
Yes. I am becoming someone who is tired of being the only one trying.
————
One evening, I gathered the courage to address everything directly.
No softness.
No hiding.
Just truth.
I called him.
He answered after a few rings.
“What is it?” he asked.
I took a breath.
“I need to talk about us.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
That tone again.
Flat.
Emotionless.
I continued anyway.
“I feel like I am always the one trying. The one communicating. The one fixing things. And I don’t feel like I matter emotionally in this relationship.”
Silence again.
Then he said something I will never forget.
“I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
And that was it.
No reflection.
No apology.
No curiosity about my pain.
Just distance disguised as confusion.
I felt something break inside me.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
Like something finally accepting what it had been avoiding for too long.
“I just want effort,” I said softly.
A pause.
Then he replied:
“I am not good at that kind of thing.”
And I remember closing my eyes at that moment.
Because I finally understood something I had been refusing to accept.
Some people do not lack love.
They lack emotional responsibility.
And those two things are not the same.
After that call, I didn’t cry immediately.
I just sat in silence.
Because crying would have meant I still expected something from him.
And for the first time… I was not sure I did.
But the final crack came days later.
I sent him a message expressing how lonely I felt.
Not blaming him.
Just being honest.
“I feel alone in this relationship.”
He replied hours later.
“You are too sensitive.”
That was it.
No “I’m sorry you feel that way.”
No “Let’s talk.”
No attempt to understand.
Just dismissal.
That night, I cried.
Not because of what he said.
But because I finally saw what I had been ignoring.
I was in a relationship where my feelings were not being held.
Only tolerated.
And for the first time… I felt something shift inside me.
Not heartbreak.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
Clarity.
I prayed that night differently again.
Not asking for love.
Not asking for healing.
Just asking:
“Ya Allah… show me what I am not seeing.”
Because deep down… I already knew something was wrong.
I just didn’t want to accept how long it had been wrong.
And that was the beginning of the end.
Not of love.
But of illusion.
- Writer
