Here After!

33. The Quiet Distance

Giri

The impact of my outburst had started showing itself in unexpected ways. Mom had given me the silent treatment all evening, refusing to talk, her only response to my attempts a pointed stare that cut off any further attempts. It was clear she was disappointed. I knew I had to make things right, especially with Anu coming back tomorrow morning. I regretted my reaction, realizing that my exhaustion wasn't an excuse. Though I couldn't undo what I'd said, I could at least apologize sincerely.

After a quiet dinner, I went to bed, setting an alarm so I could be awake by the time Anu arrived. I figured I'd wait for her, hoping to show her I cared and was ready to make things right. When the alarm went off, I got up and walked outside to the courtyard, anticipating her arrival.

To my surprise, Mom hadn't come out to open the door, and when she saw me standing there, she looked taken aback. I greeted her with a quick "Good morning," but her response wasn't what I expected.

With a sarcastic tilt of her head, she replied, "The one you're waiting for already left for her office trip. Looks like you forgot that too. She'll only be back on Monday morning."

The realization hit me hard, her words sinking in with a weight I hadn't anticipated. I'd lost my chance to apologize before she left. Now, I had to live with the silence until Monday, wondering if that quiet distance between us would only deepen in her absence.

Standing there in the courtyard, I felt an uncomfortable mix of regret and frustration twist inside me. I'd waited all night, expecting to make things right, only to realize that she was already gone, taking our unresolved tension with her. Mom's words stung too, reminding me that I hadn't been fully present, even when it mattered.

I tried to push the thought aside, rationalizing that I'd talk to Anu as soon as she returned. But deep down, I knew this distance between us wasn't going to disappear with just an apology. As much as I'd blamed my outburst on stress, there was something in her silence—and Mom's disappointment—that told me I'd crossed a line.

For the next two days, I found myself constantly checking my phone, hoping for a message or even a simple acknowledgment from Anu, but it stayed silent. I went about my routines, but the quiet in the house felt heavier than usual. Meals with Mom were brief and filled with polite, strained conversation. I could sense her disapproval, even though she didn't say a word about it.

By Sunday evening, I could feel the weight of my own mistakes pressing down. I was restless, pacing the house and replaying that morning over and over in my mind, hoping that somehow, when she came back, we'd be able to bridge the gap that had opened between us. But the silence on the other end of the line made me wonder if she was feeling the same or if she was already pulling further away.

In a last attempt, I typed out a message: "I'm sorry for how I acted. Can we talk when you get back?" But even as I hovered over the send button, I hesitated. Instead, I saved it in drafts, hoping that maybe, when we finally met face-to-face, I'd find the right words to mend the cracks that had formed between us.

As I stood there, replaying everything in my mind, I grabbed my phone again out of restless habit. Scrolling through my messages, I noticed something I'd missed—a simple text from Anu, sent the morning she'd left for her trip: "Leaving for the office trip today, back Monday. Take care."

I froze, staring at the message. Why had she texted instead of using WhatsApp? If it had been in our usual chat, I wouldn't have missed it. She must have known I'd see it too late, or worse, miss it altogether. Now, she'd probably think I hadn't cared enough to respond, that I'd just brushed it off like it didn't matter.

"Shit, shit, shit..." I cursed under my breath, my mind racing with thoughts of how this must look from her side.

All the assumptions I'd made, all the frustrations I'd piled onto her, now felt like they were spiraling back onto me. If I'd just noticed sooner, I could've wished her a safe trip, could've shown her I was paying attention. Instead, I'd let my own thoughts get in the way, thinking she hadn't bothered to tell me. The silence I'd felt from her end was partly my own fault, and I was only realizing it now, too late to fix it.

Guilt gnawed at me, and I could feel it settle in my chest as I replayed the last few days over and over. Anu had tried to keep me informed, even after everything that had happened between us, and I'd failed her by not noticing. It struck me just how much she must be hurting, thinking I hadn't cared enough to even acknowledge her message. I wondered how she must have felt, leaving for her trip with my silence in place of any reassurance or good wishes.

I slumped down on the couch, my mind racing with ways to make it right when she returned. I could almost picture the way she would have looked, reading that message sent into the void, maybe even hoping for some small response. The realization that my inattention had only deepened the distance between us made my heart sink even more.

There was nothing I could do until she came back on Monday. I considered messaging her again, just to let her know I'd seen her text and that I'd missed her. But it felt hollow as if words alone could undo the disappointment and hurt that had built up. I knew that an apology over text wasn't enough. She deserved better.

So I made a promise to myself to be there when she returned, to meet her with an apology that meant something. I'd find a way to bridge the gap I'd let grow between us, to show her that I hadn't forgotten, that I still cared. For now, all I could do was wait—and hope that, when she saw me again, she'd see the regret I carried and be willing to let me make things right.

By Monday morning, I was already up, pacing around the house and glancing at the clock every few minutes. Mom's silent disapproval lingered like a heavy presence in the background, her glances reminding me of the disappointment she felt. I knew she wouldn't say it, but I could feel her judgment, her protectiveness over Anu, who had always been like a daughter to her. And I couldn't blame her. In her eyes, I was the one who'd driven a wedge into our home.

"Giri, don't walk around like a hen about to lay an egg," Mom said, watching me pace. "She won't be here until afternoon. Go to the office, and meet her tomorrow if you must. Sort out the issues, but don't expect my support this time. It was your fault."

Her words were blunt, leaving no room for excuses. I could feel her disappointment pressing down on me, and it only deepened the guilt I already felt. I'd always been able to count on Mom's support, but now, even she was stepping back, urging me to face the consequences alone.

With a reluctant nod, I gathered my things and headed out the door. Each step felt heavier, the reality setting in that I'd have to wait another day to see Anu, to say the things I'd rehearsed in my head. There was nothing more I could do but hope that tomorrow, when I finally got the chance to speak to her, she'd be willing to listen.