Dear M

chapter 5: M is talking

My mornings always began the same way—with noise. My dad shouting from the kitchen, barking orders like a general in the middle of a battlefield. His rough voice echoed through the house, a constant presence for as long as I can remember. My mom, on the other hand, barely whispered her responses, moving quickly to avoid another one of his outbursts. And my little sister, she didn't even flinch. Like always, she sat comfortably at the table, spoiled and pampered, expecting the world to revolve around her. It was as if the shouting didn't even touch her.

For me, the best part of the day was leaving the house. It didn't matter where I was going—anywhere was better than staying there. The chaos drained me, suffocated me, and every time I crossed the street toward school, I felt a strange sense of relief, like I was shrugging off a backpack full of bricks, even though I knew I'd have to pick it up again at the end of the day.That day wasn't any different. I hurried my pace, eager to put as much distance between me and home as possible. My parents' voices were still echoing in my head, but they started to fade the closer I got to school. Then, out of nowhere, I remembered the gift. Fuck!. I'd forgotten I was supposed to buy something for my girlfriend.

I stopped in my tracks. It wasn't the first time I'd forgotten something like this. I was always this careless, leaving things to the last minute, especially things that should have been important. I laughed to myself, shaking my head. "What a mess," I thought. I hadn't thought much about her in weeks, or what I should be doing to keep her happy. Not that I didn't care, but... maybe not enough.

—"Hey, what do girls like?" I asked her. She glanced at me, surprised but not too concerned. She answered like always, not making a big deal out of it. She told me what anyone would: flowers, chocolates... the usual. The things people expect you to do when you care about someone.

—"I'll get those things for my girlfriend," I said, without really thinking it through. The truth was, I didn't even know why I mentioned it. Maybe because, while I loved my girlfriend, it felt like something was missing, like there was this invisible wall between us that we couldn't break through. I loved spending time with her, but there were days I wondered if she really wanted to know me beyond the surface, beyond the easy parts.She paused, just for a moment, surprised.

 —"Your girlfriend?" she asked, and I saw it—confusion. Like she was learning something that didn't quite fit with what she knew about me.I nodded, smiling. It wasn't a secret, but I hadn't brought it up before. Not because I was hiding it, but because, honestly, it didn't seem all that relevant in our conversations. She and I talked about everything, but there were parts of my life that felt compartmentalized, and she'd never asked about that part of me.—"Yeah, I didn't tell you, did I?"

She nodded, wearing that expression she gets when she's trying to process something. It reminded me that, despite how much we laughed together, I didn't know her as well as I thought. There was always something in her that stayed at arm's length, and I respected that.I kept talking about my girlfriend—how we met, the times we'd gone out. The truth was, I wanted to say something more, something real, like how, even though I cared about her, there were moments when I felt invisible. Like everyone around me was too wrapped up in their own lives to stop and actually see who I was.

She listened, nodding at the right moments, asking questions here and there. She's always been good at that—making you feel like she's present, even if I wasn't sure how much of what I was saying really mattered to her. After all, she wasn't the type to pry, to push for more than I was willing to give.

What I didn't tell her was that my relationship with my girlfriend was... complicated. I loved her, sure, but something was missing, something that made me feel like we were never really connecting. It was like she didn't bother to know me beyond the obvious, like she didn't care to understand what was underneath. And it wasn't her fault, I guess. Maybe it was me. Maybe I didn't know how to let her in.The conversation ended, but I felt like something had shifted between us. A crack, maybe, in the ease we'd always had. Like, by mentioning my girlfriend, I'd introduced something new, a dynamic neither of us knew how to handle.As we walked in silence, I wondered if she had things she wasn't telling me too. Things she kept to herself, just like I did with everyone else.