Beyond the paper walls

PARADOX

She was my sunset when I was tired of the day and wanted it to end,
my dawn when I needed a new morning.
Clouds on a sunlit day, the warmth when winds blew strong.
Raindrops when I needed calm,
a quiet haven when I needed love.
A partner to argue with when I felt stubborn,
a confidant when I needed someone to listen.
Someone I could hate the most, yet had nothing to truly hate about her.

And yet, for reasons I couldn’t understand, we hated each other,
avoiding each other as much as we could.

Maybe my life could have been different if I'd spoken up the day I got engaged, but somehow, I kept quiet. The weight of unspoken words pressed heavily on my chest, suffocating me. And now, here we are. I don’t know when she’ll wake up—the doctor said her concussion was serious, likely made worse by drinking on an empty stomach. It's been almost 17 hours since the accident, and she’s running a high fever. Even after cleaning all the blood, I can still feel the weight of her in my arms, bleeding, and I'm struggling to breathe. The thought of something happening to her makes me want to throw up. I can still hear her laughter echoing in my mind, the light in her eyes dimming, and it terrifies me.

“Dada… don’t you think we should put some lights in Aria’s apartment? It’s too dark,” Alaana said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

“Hmm, I guess we should.” In truth, the apartment felt unsettling. Dim, with long shadows that seemed to cling to the walls, it didn’t seem like Aria at all—not the vibrant person I remembered. So, Alaana and I went to the market to buy lights for her place, and she begged for fairy lights too. I wasn’t sure about those, but if Alaana wanted them, we’d get them—no questions asked.

After decorating with the lights and fairy lights, the apartment transformed. Soft golden light bathed the room, giving it a warm, almost cozy glow. The fairy lights twinkled against the bookshelves, casting playful shadows that danced across the walls. The cold, distant atmosphere had vanished, replaced with something that felt familiar and comforting. I hadn’t realized how much this place could change with just a little warmth and light. It felt… like home. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the glow wrap around me, wishing Aria could feel this comfort too.

We stayed there a while, and when Alaana fell asleep, I took her back to my place so she could rest. Sitting in Aria’s apartment later, I picked up a book from her enormous collection. The air was faintly scented with the mix of aged paper and lavender—her signature scent, lingering in the space. The book was about a girl coping with the loss of her boyfriend after an accident—a story of grief, of holding on and letting go. I was lost in the pages when I heard faint footsteps from the bedroom.

“Aria, is that you?” I called out, practically running to the room.

I paused at the door, my breath hitching in my throat, then slowly turned the handle, dreading what I might find inside. There she was, trying to walk to the bathroom, almost collapsing from weakness. This time, I caught her before she fell.

“Oh my God, you could have just called me! You shouldn’t be moving around on your own right now. You’re too weak, Aria.”

She didn’t respond at first, just looked at me with something sharp in her eyes that seemed to snap. “And who exactly are you to tell me that?” she said, her voice growing angrier with each word, jerking her hand away from mine.

“What the hell are you even doing in my apartment, Zane?”

I stood there, stunned, the silence stretching between us, thick and suffocating. It felt like every unresolved moment from the past six years converged into this one heated exchange, and I didn’t know how to respond.

“I… You were hurt, so I just thought…”

“Well, I’m not anymore, so you can leave. Thank you for your concern… goodnight.”

And in that moment, something inside me shattered, something I hadn’t known was even there. Her words cut deeper than I thought possible. Sure, we’d always had this strange, hostile tension, but I didn’t expect her words to hurt like this. I felt the familiar sting of anger, but it twisted into something else—regret, sadness, and a longing for the connection we once had.

Still, her health mattered more to me than whatever unresolved issues lay between us. “I think you need rest… Just take care of yourself, alright? I made you some dinner; have it, and don’t forget to take your meds. I won’t disturb you again,” I managed to say, holding back tears. My heart ached for her, for us, and the distance that felt impossible to bridge.

Then I left her apartment. I hadn’t realized just how much power she held over me—someone I hadn’t seen in six years—but here we were, teetering on the edge of something fragile and broken.