The Weight of Words Unsaid

Chapter01 - Fractured Beginnings

Uche sat hunched over on the couch, his thumb drifting over the screen of his phone without purpose. The familiar glow of blue light washed over his face, casting soft shadows across the room. But the comfort he once found in that glow felt distant now, replaced by a low hum of unease. He wasn't even on any apps, he was just thoughtlessly scrolling across his homescreen, a nervous habit. The phone was just noise-a distraction to keep him from looking up.

He could sense Ruth in the room, standing a few feet away. She hadn't moved, hadn't said anything. That silence had become familiar, too-one that spoke more than words. That silence, once a neutral space between them, now felt heavy, suffocating. They used to be able to sit in it, companionable, knowing they didn't need words to understand each other. Now, that silence was loud. It wasn't peaceful anymore.

He didn't need to look up to know that the laughter they once shared had been replaced by this quiet tension, a living thing pressing down on both of them. He hated it, hated how it crept into every corner of their lives, twisting their connection into something unrecognisable.

Once, their apartment had been filled with music and warmth-days when Ruth's laugh would echo through the room, and Uche would playfully toss her his phone just to see her mock-annoyed expression. She used to love teasing him for how absorbed he got in things. She'd pull him away from his work, her face lighting up with mischief, and they'd end up out somewhere, riding lime bikes down southbank to catch the night views or wrapped around each other in a naked embrace following one of their many failed attempts to get through that season of Love is Blind. He missed that, missed the way she used to gently force him out of his head and back into the world.

Now, his phone was a shield, not a connection. A way to avoid facing what he knew had been brewing between them for too long.

Ruth stood near the door, arms folded gently across her chest. Her posture wasn't confrontational, but there was a tension in the set of her shoulders that made Uche's stomach twist. She didn't look angry-she rarely did anymore-but there was something worse about this calmness. It was as though she had already accepted the outcome of a conversation they hadn't even finished yet.

He could feel her eyes on him. Even without looking, he could feel them boring into him, waiting for something-an explanation, an excuse, maybe just a sign that he still cared enough to try. But he wasn't sure he had the energy for this anymore. He was tired. So damn tired.

"Uche," she finally spoke, her voice soft, but it cut through the room like the sound of glass breaking.

His thumb froze on the screen, though he didn't look up. The familiar weight settled in his chest as he let out a slow, measured breath. He knew what was coming, had felt it building for days. Weeks, if he were honest with himself. He placed his phone face down next to him, the screen now dark. "I know," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "I should've been there. I'm sorry."

The apology sat in the air between them, weighed down by all the times it had been said before. He knew it wouldn't land. Not anymore. Ruth had heard these words too many times, and they had lost their meaning along the way.

She shifted, unfolding her arms and running a hand through her hair. Her fingers lingered at her temple, as if massaging away the strain of this conversation before it even began. "You said the same thing last week," she said, her tone gentle but so tired. "You say you're sorry, but nothing changes."

Uche leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck as if the movement might release some of the tension building inside him. "It's not that simple," he said, more to himself than to her. "Work's been... complicated." The explanation felt hollow as it left his mouth, like he was running through the motions of an old, rehearsed excuse. But he didn't know what else to say.