Here After!

34. Unspoken Apologies

Giri

The day dragged on, each hour stretching out, heavy with the words I hadn't said. I sat at my desk, trying to lose myself in work, but my mind kept drifting back to Anu. The silence between us wasn't just an absence of sound—it was a wall I'd built, one brick at a time, with every frustrated word and ignored message.

I wondered if she'd come back tomorrow ready to forgive, or if my outburst had pushed her further away. The apology I had rehearsed over and over in my head seemed to dissolve every time I imagined her face, a reminder that words alone might not be enough.

The hum of the office faded in and out, and my focus shattered. Every time my phone buzzed, I felt a surge of hope, only for it to die down when I saw another work notification. I kept going back to the message she'd left me, a short, polite note about her trip. How could I have missed it? Now, I had to wait until tomorrow to face her, to ask her forgiveness, hoping she'd see my regret.

For now, I was left with silence—and my own unspoken apologies.

The day crawled forward, and I could feel the unease building, every passing minute reminding me of the mess I'd created. My usual routines, once almost automatic, felt strained. Emails blurred into each other, meetings seemed to stretch on forever, and any chance at focus slipped away. I'd check my phone every few minutes, caught between wanting to see a message from Anu and dreading the possibility that nothing would come.

By afternoon, I gave up trying to work and took a break, stepping out of the office to clear my head. I thought about what I would say to her. The apology had to come from somewhere real, not just rehearsed lines. But the thought of facing her after all that had happened left me feeling unsteady. She'd been nothing but patient with me, trying to understand my long hours and stress, and this was how I'd repaid her.

When I finally got back to my desk, I found myself scrolling through old photos of us on my phone, the memories sharp and bittersweet. Weekend trips, quiet evenings at home, even just a simple meal shared together—I hadn't realized how much I'd started taking those moments for granted. I'd let stress and exhaustion blind me to the person who'd been by my side through it all.

With a sigh, I placed my phone back down, forcing myself to focus on something productive, anything to make the hours pass faster. Tomorrow, I'd finally have my chance to make things right. I just hoped that, by then, it wasn't too late.

The evening finally rolled around, and I left the office in a daze, driving home on autopilot. The house felt eerily quiet when I stepped inside, as if echoing the silence that had grown between Anu and me. Mom was in the kitchen, her back turned to me as she prepared dinner. She didn't acknowledge my arrival, and I knew her silence was intentional, her quiet disapproval a reminder of the disappointment she felt.

I wanted to tell her that I planned to fix things, that I knew I'd messed up and was ready to make amends, but her silent treatment stung in a way that words couldn't. It was as if she was reminding me that my actions had consequences, even in my own home.

Dinner was a quick, uneventful affair. I finished in silence, every bite reminding me of the words I'd yet to say, the weight of an apology that had been building over the past few days. I barely tasted the food, and my mind was too caught up in the anticipation of seeing Anu the next day.

After clearing the table, I went to our bedroom. Her absence felt like a presence in itself, filling the space with a reminder of everything I'd let slip away. I glanced at her side of the bed, untouched, as if she'd been a ghost here while I was asleep.

I set my alarm for the early hours, determined to be up before she arrived. This time, I'd make sure to be there, fully awake, and ready to face whatever her response would be.

When I finally lay down, sleep came reluctantly, slipping in and out like the memories of the days before—my outburst, her hurt expression, the silence that followed. Tomorrow, I told myself, would be different. It had to be.

Thinking about everything that had happened, I finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep. It felt like just moments later when I was startled awake by the continuous ringing of my phone. Groggily, I picked it up to see my friend's name flashing on the screen. His voice on the other end was rushed and anxious. His wife was due to deliver, and they urgently needed a blood donor.

The seriousness of the situation jolted me into action. I quickly informed Mom about the call and left for the hospital without a second thought. The hours passed in a blur as I did what was needed. By the time everything was settled, and I was able to leave, it was already 8 a.m.

When I returned home, I went straight to our bedroom, hoping to find Anu. But the bed was empty. My heart sank again. I stepped into the kitchen, where Mom was making tea. She glanced at me briefly and said, "She's in the other room. Let her sleep. And, Giri... better not disturb her right now."

Her words carried a mix of concern and subtle reprimand. I knew she wasn't just telling me to leave Anu alone—she was hinting at the consequences of my actions, the distance I had created. With a heavy heart, I nodded, unable to say anything in return.

I trudged back to our room, the silence between us now feeling even louder. I got ready for work, but my thoughts were far from the day ahead. Every moment felt like another reminder of how things had spiraled out of control. As I adjusted my tie and glanced at the clock, I realized that facing the day without addressing the storm in my personal life was only going to add to the weight I was carrying.

I had to fix this. But once again, it wasn't the right moment. So, I left for the office, the words of apology still unspoken, and the hope for a chance to make things right slipping further away.