Till Baby Do Us Part

The very beginning

It's been three years since we got married, two years since I quit my job to take care of the kids, and one year since I've been utterly fed up.
                    ************************
He and I first met in high school, right after I'd moved to his city from Phuket. He was the kind of guy you couldn't help but notice. Popular, handsome, quiet, nerdy, and impossibly clumsy—but despite that, there was something about him that drew people in. Everyone just seemed to love him.

He was always minding his business—his nose buried in books, headphones over his ears, rarely saying a word to anyone. And yet, there was a sense of respect that followed him wherever he went. He lit up the room without even trying.

I had just transferred schools, and on my first day, all anyone in my class could talk about was him. I hadn't even seen him yet, but the way everyone fawned over him made me curious. Both the girls and boys in my class were head over heels for him. What is the big deal about this guy? I wondered. "Did you see him today?" one girl whispered. "Why is he getting more handsome every day?" another asked.

The excitement in their voices irritated me. "He nodded at me!" someone exclaimed. "You're so lucky," a boy sighed. The conversations were endless, and I couldn't help but wonder what all the fuss was about.

On Thursday, during lunch, I finally spotted him. He was sitting alone, a book in one hand, his headphones still on, and his lunch in the other. He was completely absorbed in whatever he was reading. Why is he reading in the cafeteria? I remember thinking. Is he preparing for a huge exam or something? But I couldn't deny it—he was handsome.

Friday arrived, and the energy in the air changed. The whole school was buzzing with the news of a fight. Word spread that two seniors were going to duke it out after school over a girl from another school. The whole place was alive with excitement. Even I was curious. I'd only been at this school for a week, but I had a reputation back at my old school. I used to get into fights myself—sometimes even instigating them—and placed bets on the outcomes. More often than not, I'd win and spend the money on things I loved, like desserts and gaming cafés.

But this was a new school, a new start. I had to keep my head down, at least for the first week. I couldn't let anyone think I was the "problematic child" my old principal always called me. "You always act any way you like just because you're good at studying, and we need you to win the cross-school academic competitions, you problematic child," he used to say. Well, if you know I'm that important, then let me do what I want, I would think to myself.

I was smart, no doubt about it—never leaving the top spot in my class or in the whole school. Studying had never been an issue for me. I was just born that way, and honestly, I worked hard too. If I wasn't making my parents proud of me behaviorally, I had to make them proud academically.

Still, I couldn't wait for school to be over. The rumours were flying about how tough these seniors were, and I was dying to see it for myself. Apparently, these were two of the toughest fighters around.

When the final bell rang, we all headed to the back hall. The space felt like it belonged in an abandoned factory, its concrete floors cracked and stained from years of misuse. The dim, flickering lights cast strange shadows on the walls, which were covered in graffiti and random notes from students. The smell of sweat and old dust hung in the air, giving the place an almost claustrophobic feel. The crowd surged in, filling the space with a low hum of whispers, cheers, and excitement. The tension was electric, and I could feel the pulse of it in the air.

We formed a circle around the fighters, creating an arena-like atmosphere. The two seniors stood in the middle, glaring at each other, trading insults that only made the crowd buzz even more. My heart raced with excitement. I should place a bet, I thought, sizing up the fighters. The guy on the right looks like he's going to win.

Just as the first punch was about to be thrown, the crowd went silent. Confused, I looked around, wondering what had caused the sudden stillness. Then I saw him—that guy. He casually walked into the middle of the ring, completely oblivious to the tension around him. He was wearing his headphones, as always, a book in one hand, and a juice box in the other. Without saying a word, he sat down on the cold, cracked floor in the center of the circle.

The energy in the room evaporated. The crowd's excitement turned to disbelief. The fighters, once eager to tear into each other, now looked confused and frustrated. What the hell is he doing? I thought. Is he the strongest guy in school? Do people fear him? My mind was racing as I tried to make sense of the situation.

One by one, the crowd began to disperse. The fight was over before it even began—because of him. Disappointment washed over me, and I stood there, unsure of what just happened.

The hall emptied quickly, leaving only the two of us. He sat there, still reading, while I stood frozen in place, staring at him. The silence between us was thick, broken only by the soft hum of the flickering lights above.

"Aren't you leaving?" he asked, not even bothering to look up from his book.

His voice startled me, snapping me back to reality. I slowly walked toward him, my frustration building with each step. What is his deal? I thought. Without thinking, I yanked his headphones off. I hadn't meant to be rough, but the annoyance in me won over my self-control.

To my surprise, the headphones weren't connected to anything. No music, no sound. He was just wearing them. Seriously? What kind of person does that?

Before I could apologize, he snatched the headphones back, slipped them on again, and stood up. I watched him walk toward the exit, stunned by his indifference. The hall felt emptier, heavier somehow, without the crowd. The lingering smell of sweat and anticipation still hung in the air.

As he reached the doorway, he paused. He didn't turn fully around, but he glanced back at me. His expression was unreadable, and his voice was low, almost a whisper.

"Nothing can be solved with violence, pretty boy," he said, and then he disappeared around the corner.

I ran after him, my heart pounding in my chest. Why did he call me that? What did he mean? I didn't understand why, but I needed to know more. I barely managed to call out his name before he was out of sight.

"P'Tay?"

***********
Please share your thoughts below and drop a vote, it will make me happy 😊