Midnight Without Words

"So you had known him from like... 3rd grade, and you guys still act like strangers?" Esther asked, brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

She leaned a little closer, voice soft but relentless. "Especially you. I mean—he literally said he was going to meet his girlfriend, and it turned out to be you. So you guys were in... some kind of relationship, right?"

Sri Mathi didn't answer right away. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, elbows on her knees, her hands quietly gripping the edge of the blanket like she was holding on to something that was slipping away.

"We were never... in a relationship," she said finally. Her voice was calm—too calm. The kind of calm that comes from stitching yourself back together so many times, you don't even flinch when you bleed anymore.

"I mean... I love him," she added, eyes staring straight ahead, unfocused. "I loved him then, too. I just didn't know what to call it. But I loved him."

Her lips quivered, and for the briefest second, she looked like a child who had lost something they couldn't even name. She took a shallow breath, but her chest rose like it was trying to keep something locked inside.

"When we were in 10th grade," she whispered, "he just... left. No goodbye. No message. One day he was there. The next—gone. Like he never existed. Like everything was just in my head."

She looked down now. Her fingers were shaking.

"He promised he'd meet me on my birthday," she said, the memory dragging her back like a wave that doesn't ask for permission. "He said... 'I have something special for you. I have something to say.'"

That day—the sky had been dull that morning, smothered with a grey that made everything look quieter than usual.

Sri Mathi stood by the rusted blue gate of her old school, the one that had always creaked open when the bell rang. She was wearing the bracelet he had given her back in 7th grade—cheap, plastic, slightly discolored—but it meant more than anything she owned.

She arrived by 8.

She stood near the bus stop—their spot.

Every few minutes, she would look down the road where the school buses usually came from. She smiled at every boy who wore a green school uniform, only to realize again—it wasn't him.

One hour passed.

Then two.

By 11, some of her old classmates from other batches passed by, whispering, giggling, throwing her curious looks. Some waved. She smiled back stiffly and turned away.

She didn't leave.

By 2 PM, the sun was directly above her. The heat was unbearable, but she stayed. Her throat was dry, but she kept saying to herself: He promised. He'll come.

3 PM. 4 PM.

Children poured out of the school gate, laughter filling the air. Their parents arrived, autos honked, tuition vans lined the roads. Someone asked her if she was lost. She shook her head.

5 PM. Her mother arrived, helmet still on, a Veg puff in her hand.

"Kanna... eat something," she said gently, sitting beside her.

But Sri Mathi just smiled. "He said he'll come, Amma. He promised."

Her mother didn't argue. Just sat quietly.

6 PM. 7. 8.

Her mother placed her shawl around Mathi's shoulders as the night turned cold.

By 10 PM, the street was empty except for a few passing bikes and stray dogs.

11 PM. The streetlights flickered—one kept buzzing overhead. A small boy cycled past, ringing his bell for no reason.

She was still there. Eyes fixed on that same corner.

12:07 AM.

Her mother, now shivering in her cotton saree, reached out, brushing her fingers softly across Mathi's shoulder.

"Let's go home, kanna," she whispered.

Sri Mathi stood up. Her knees buckled slightly.

She hadn't cried. Not once.

She rode back home on her mother's scooter, holding onto her tighter than usual, the bracelet pressing cold against her wrist.

And still—she didn't cry.

"And he never showed up," Sri Mathi said, voice cracking as the memory faded but the ache stayed. "Not even a sorry. Not even an explanation. Just... disappeared. Like I never mattered."

A tear slipped down her cheek, and then another. She didn't try to stop them anymore.

"And now he's here. Treating me like we're... old friends. Like nothing happened. Like he didn't ruin me and just move on."

Her voice trembled. "What am I to him? Some side character in his life? A break he needed from his reality?"

She laughed—bitter, hollow. "He left me on my birthday and never came back. He made me believe he'd say something beautiful... and then left me staring down that damn road for sixteen hours."

Her hands were shaking now. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her skin like she was punishing herself for still feeling something.

Esther didn't say anything. She just quietly stood, walked to the shelf, and brought her a glass of water.

Theresa, who had been silent this whole time, got up from her bed and sat beside her. Without a word, she pulled Sri Mathi into a hug. A soft one. A real one.

Her hand rubbed slow circles on her back.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Theresa murmured, her voice the kind of soft that breaks you gently.

That was all it took.

The sobs broke loose—gutted, soundless cries that came from somewhere deep inside her.

It wasn't loud. It didn't have to be.

It was the kind of pain that doesn't scream. It just collapses in the arms of someone who holds space for it.

And they let her cry.

She cried until her cheeks burned, until her throat felt raw, until the weight in her chest softened just enough to breathe.

"I love him like crazy," Sri Mathi whispered into Theresa's shoulder. "And now I hate him even more."

She pulled back slightly, wiping her face with the edge of her sleeve. "I cried so much... for months. I cried like a fool. And then I stopped. I just... changed."

Her eyes stared at nothing. "I don't talk to any of my school friends. I pushed them all away. My mom... she was trying so hard to hold the whole family together, and I—I was just another burden. I shouted at her. I hurt her. I didn't even know why I was hurting."

She swallowed, voice growing small. "And Paati... she's always been kind to me. Always. But I said things to her I can never take back. I see her now and all I feel is guilt."

She let out a soft, broken laugh. "And me... when I look in the mirror... I don't see myself anymore. I see a stranger. Someone hollow. Someone I never wanted to become."

She paused.

The room was silent except for the sound of a single ceiling fan creaking.

Then, slowly, she straightened up.

"I'm never crying for him again."

Her voice was low but firm. "He doesn't deserve my tears."

She wiped her face, took the glass of water from Esther, and drank.

Halfway through, she let out a breath and gave a sheepish smile through her puffy eyes.

"I think I'm hungry," she said, finishing the last sip. "Like... actually hungry."

Esther smiled. Theresa pulled back just enough to ruffle her hair.

"We'll go down and eat together," Esther said softly. "You're not alone anymore."

Sri Mathi didn't reply.

She just nodded—barely.

But this time, it wasn't to convince herself that he'd come.

This time, it was because she knew she had stayed.