Synopsis: A story about breakups and introspection.
The noise around me dulled into a quiet whir. I just stared in anguish at his lips. Each movement they made used to make my heart flutter, but in that moment, I simply felt a void growing with every movement. I focused on every tiny hair drawing from the stubble around his mouth. I averted my glance to his eyes, his brows dancing to the tune of apology and sadness.
“Hey, are you listening?”
I shook my head. “Yeah, I’m just… why now? Why after all I’ve put in?”
“I tried to- “
“I’ve done everything you’ve wanted and more. I’ve attended every presentation, birthday, and funeral you had to go to, even if I had work, I've always been there for you. And how often have you been there for me?”
He fumed in response, “I’ve done plenty for you, what are you trying to say?”
“I let you sleep with me. I’ve met your family. I’ve dedicated so much to you. Just… just fuck off.”
I pushed past him and went to the door. As soon as I went out into the winter winds, my skin chilled, but my blood boiled. Somehow, despite feeling both, I also felt nothing. I focused on walking through campus. I took out my phone and texted my best friend, May. I told her I needed to see her. I wasn’t sad, I was fuming, and I needed someone to be there for me to yell both with and at. I stared, waiting for her response before I got impatient and put my phone away.
I went into the cafeteria, thinking that food would be a good outlet right about now. Despite the lack of people around me at the counter, with no one ahead of me, and no one near me, it still felt like it was crowded. The cashier was talking to the chef beside him. I stared at his lips, waiting for them to stop, waiting for his focus to shift to me. I pulled out my phone from my pocket and stared at it a bit to try and see if May had responded yet. She hadn’t – despite her profile saying she was online. I groaned and messaged her, telling her to fucking answer already. I then put my phone in my pocket, looked at the cashier, and impatiently scolded him, “sorry but I’ve been waiting here for five minutes, can you do your job yet? Or should I find another cashier?”
“I’m sorry - I thought you were on your phone.”
“Never mind, just please pay more attention.”
When I got my food, I walked out and picked a seat, annoyed at the overwhelming number of couples in the area. Holding hands. Heads on shoulders. I was going to one empty chair when I noticed a girl a few tables away: May. I hurried up to her, put down my tray quickly, and glared into her eyes. She instantly broke away from her phone, looking up, startled. “Where were you? I needed you.” Her eyes looked worried.
She looked at me apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t notice – what’s up?”
“We broke up. After all this fucking time, and all this fucking effort – and worst of all, there was no one there when I needed them.” She looked down, embarrassed.
I started telling her about it all. About the whole thing. And then she started tearing up as she looked up at me.
“Don’t be so upset,” I responded, trying to console her, “I’ll be fine. I just fucking hate him. He-”
“My mom’s in the hospital.”
“What?”
She replied quietly and briefly, “Yeah.”
I looked at her eyes again. Red. Watery. We sat in silence. And my eyes started matching hers.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, almost whispering.
A moment later, I got up in silence and just walked out. I felt guilty. Guilty for being mad. Mad at her mom for being hurt. Mad at her for not caring more about my story. Mad at myself for storming out. I needed air. I couldn’t breathe.
I finally reached the gardens. I could have sworn it was raining. I felt the cold air. I felt the droplets on my clothes. But I looked up and saw the sky was clear. I closed my eyes, felt teardrops cool my reddened face, and breathed a long, slow breath, doing my all to calm myself. When I opened my eyes, my breathing stabilized. I noticed the flowerbeds of lilies, daffodils, and jasmines adorning the sides of the pathways. I stared at them for what seemed like an eternity, as the yellows and whites captured me.
“Hey,” a voice shattered my focus, “long time no see!”
I turned to see a familiar face, and replied quietly, “Hi.”
“How’s your semester going?”
“It’s fine. Busy. How have you been?”
“I’m great!” he exclaimed, “Oh, have you met Dina?”
“No,” I smiled, “it’s nice to meet you.”
I saw the way he held her hand. His fingers lightly wrapping around hers. Her arm barely pressed against his. Hardly the way I did, when I tugged on his arm and held him constantly, worried someone would take him. I looked at his eyes and smiled. It has been years since I first explored them. They had instantly captured my attention, leaving me breathless: the light bronze surrounding his pupil. And then, one day, I decided I loathed them. I don’t know how, but it was so stupid. I hated every part of him that I used to love. But today I remembered. They were warm. Friendly. And I hadn’t noticed, but they were soothing me.
“I just wanted to say hi, but I have to walk Dina to class,” he said.
I had just really noticed Dina now. She smiled and recognized the pain I was hiding. I don’t know how I knew, but I did, and I don’t know how she knew, but she did.
“It’s okay, I bet you two want to catch up.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later on, okay babe?”
She had such confidence. Not just in herself but in their love. She knew it would be there forever, if she took care of it. And I remembered how I used to be with him. How I used to demand he come over when I was upset. How I used to go over to him when he was busy. When he was depressed. When he needed to be alone. But I needed him more. And I demanded him there, always.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yeah. But let’s meet up some time, the three of us,” she reassured me, smiled and walked off. I guess she had no reason to be worried about me taking him.
A moment of silence passed. A moment that lingered for a while as we watched her walk off. Without turning, I said something I hadn’t told anyone in a long time. Something I had to learn to say more - to my partners, my friends. To the people I’ve hurt.
“I’m sorry.”
Author's note: Special thanks to Sara Shalaby and Maryam Kotb for editing the story, and Merna Ahmed for copyediting. Written for AUC Times.
Image Source: Artwork by myself