When the door closed behind him, the silence hit like a sudden drop in temperature. I stood in the hallway, staring at the empty entrance as if the door might swing open again and he would be standing there.
But it didn't.
A tightness in my chest made it hard to breathe. My thoughts scattered—where was he going, why wouldn't he say, and why now? He had put on that black T-shirt like a uniform, as if preparing for something that required both silence and speed.
I stepped closer to the door, placing my hand on the handle. If I moved quickly enough, I might still see which way he turned.
My heart was pounding. One part of me screamed to stay, to respect his privacy. The other part… was already lacing up its shoes.
I peeked through the curtain by the door. The yard was empty; only the dim streetlight cast long shadows across the asphalt.
For a moment, I imagined myself quietly following him, tracing his steps into the night. But then, from upstairs, I heard the gentle creak of floorboards—Anamarija. His last words echoed in my head: "Take care of her."
And there I stood, torn between two pulls—the urge to follow him, and the duty to stay and protect her.
Footsteps approached.
"Is something wrong, Niran?" Anamarija asked softly.
"Nothing," I told her, forcing a smile, though it weighed heavy on me.
"You're like this because of Chak, aren't you?"
"You're right," I admitted. "He went somewhere, but I don't know where. He wouldn't tell me. I just hope he didn't go to Vikran. If he did, I'll be furious with him."
"Maybe he just has some work to do and doesn't want to worry you," she said.
"I love him," I confessed, my voice low, "but sometimes his secrets make me angry—like he doesn't trust me."
"Maybe it's not that he doesn't trust you," she answered gently. "Maybe he just doesn't know how to tell you."
"Come," she said then.
We sat down on the couch. I grabbed a pillow and held it tightly against my chest. More to myself than to her, I whispered, "Chak spent years hiding his feelings. And now, he only shows them to a few people—as if he's afraid. Every time he leaves, he acts so secretive, like he's scared I'll leave him if I knew the truth."
For a while, silence filled the room. Then Anamarija spoke again, her voice calm and certain:
"I think Chak just needs some time for himself. Not because he doesn't love you, but because he's not used to being with someone like you—someone who understands him and stays by his side, even when it's hard. Give him time, and you'll see… he'll tell you where he goes sometimes."
Her words settled into the quiet like a blanket, but the ache in my chest refused to ease.
After some time, I looked at her and said, "Thank you. Tomorrow I need to apologize to him."
"I don't think he's mad at you," she said with a smile. She stood up. "Goodnight, Niran."
"Goodnight," I replied. I stood too, turned off the lights, and went upstairs. When I entered our bedroom, I opened his wardrobe and pulled out his pajama set. I pressed it to my face, breathing in his scent, imagining he was still here with me.
I slipped into his soft cotton pajamas, the kind that always made me feel a little safer, a little warmer. My chest still ached, a stubborn weight that refused to leave me even after I'd tried to distract myself.
My eyes fell on the gray plush cat sitting on the pillow. Without thinking, I picked it up, holding it against my chest. The familiar softness made me exhale slowly, as if it could keep all my pieces from falling apart.
But the silence in the room pressed in—too heavy, too sharp. I needed something. No, I needed someone. My hand trembled as I reached for my phone on the nightstand. For a moment, I just stared at Chak's name on the screen. Would I disturb him? Would he even want to hear my voice right now?
I pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it. The line rang, each second stretching unbearably long, until finally his voice came through.
"Niran?" His tone was calm, steady—but not cold. Just hearing it made the tightness in my chest ease a little.
"Is everything alright?" he asked, voice even and gentle.
"Yes, everything's fine," I said quickly, hugging the plush cat tighter. "I just… I needed something."
"Did I disturb you?" I asked, almost ashamed of myself.
"No," he replied without hesitation. That single word carried more comfort than I expected.
I swallowed, my throat tight. "I just… wanted to say goodnight, Chaky." My voice was little more than a whisper.
There was a pause, long enough to make my heart race. Then his voice—quiet, low, but full of warmth I could almost feel—replied, "Goodnight, my artist."
Something inside me melted. A smile spread across my lips before I could stop it, even as my eyes burned. Pressing the plush cat closer, I whispered, "Can we… can we stay on the call? Just for a while. It's easier to fall asleep that way."
"Of course," he said softly.
"Thank you," I breathed.
I lay back against the pillows, the phone resting beside me, his breathing faint in the background. It wasn't silence anymore—it was him. Steady. Present. Real. My eyelids grew heavier with every breath I matched to his, the ache in my chest finally beginning to soften.
The last thing I felt before drifting into sleep was the warmth of his voice lingering in my mind—like a promise that I wasn't alone.
In the morning, I opened my eyes, but an annoying voice inside me whispered: Did you really think he would be there when you woke up?
"Stop it," I told myself.
I walked toward the door, and before I could even touch the handle, it swung open. Chak was standing there, and I looked at him in surprise. He was wearing a gray T-shirt I had never seen before. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. His gaze was cold.
Before he could say anything, I quietly murmured:
"I'm sorry about yesterday. I should have known you wanted to be alone without me. I shouldn't have asked where you were going. You've also given me space to retreat to where I can truly be myself."
I turned away, but I could hear his footsteps drawing closer.
"Niran…"