Beneath the Bully's Gaze

Silence and Solitude

The days following her grandmother's funeral felt like a blur to Mira. She walked through her routines, her work, her chores—everything felt hollow, as though she were merely going through the motions.

Her movements had become automatic, like she was a machine on autopilot.

Every time she entered the office, she did it with a sense of numbness.

She could feel the weight of her grief deep inside her chest, but it didn't show on the outside.

She kept her emotions buried deep down, not allowing anyone to see how broken she felt.

It was as if she had become a ghost of her former self.

At first, it was just the lingering sadness that weighed her down, but soon, physical exhaustion set in.

Mira began to feel weak, dizzy more often, and every day seemed to take more effort than the last.

She tried to push through it, believing that if she just kept working, she could ignore the signs her body was giving her. The more she isolated herself, the more she convinced herself that it was just grief manifesting physically—nothing more.

It was becoming harder to ignore. She felt light-headed during meetings, and once, she almost fainted while sitting at her desk. But she brushed it off, swallowing her discomfort and refusing to let anyone see her vulnerability.

As she worked, she kept her head down, burying herself in tasks to keep her mind occupied.

Ethan had noticed her growing distance.

He noticed how her once-vibrant eyes had dulled, how her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore.

She had become quieter, more withdrawn, and it didn't escape his attention.

But Ethan didn't say anything.

He watched from afar, his brow furrowing with concern that he refused to acknowledge. He knew something was wrong with Mira, but he wasn't sure if he should ask her directly.

Every time he tried to talk to her, she brushed him off, using work as an excuse.

---

"Mira," Ethan's voice cut through the hum of the office one afternoon, pulling her from her thoughts. She looked up at him, still holding a pile of papers in her hands. He stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.

"You've been looking a little... off lately."

Mira didn't even bother to look at him for more than a second. She simply gave him a tight-lipped smile, the one she'd been perfecting for the past week.

"I'm fine, just tired. It's nothing," she said, dismissing the concern as casually as possible.

Ethan didn't buy it.

He had seen her growing frailty, the way she seemed to be losing more of her vitality with each passing day. But there was something else in her eyes—a coldness, a distance that he couldn't understand. She had pulled away from everyone, from him included, and it was unsettling.

"I don't think it's nothing, Mira," he said, his voice steady but edged with a hint of impatience. "You need to rest."

"I'm fine," she repeated, her tone flat. "I have work to do."

Ethan stared at her for a moment, the silence stretching between them. He knew pushing her wasn't going to help. But there was a part of him, buried deep within, that didn't want to see her like this. Finally, he spoke again.

"You're coming with me to meet a client this afternoon. We'll stop for lunch. You need to eat."

Mira opened her mouth to protest, but Ethan cut her off before she could say a word.

"I'm not asking you, Mira. It's not a request."

With that, he turned, his back to her, already moving toward the door.

Mira hesitated, her fingers tightening around the papers in her hand.

She knew arguing would be pointless, so instead, she sighed and followed him, her footsteps slow and tired.

---

They arrived at the restaurant a short while later, and as they sat at the table, Mira's stomach churned. She hadn't eaten much in the past few days—not out of any particular intention, but more because she simply hadn't felt the need to.

Every meal felt like an empty obligation.

Ethan, on the other hand, looked completely unfazed by the situation. His posture was perfect, his demeanor professional as always. He glanced at Mira, who was staring blankly at the menu in front of her.

"We need to order," he said, his tone clipped, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The clients are late anyway. We need to kill time."

Mira looked up at him, her gaze tired and uninterested. "Clients? I thought they were already here."

"They're running late," Ethan responded, not bothering to look up from the menu. "We'll wait."

Mira's gaze lingered on Ethan's face for a moment, studying the hardness in his eyes, the way he held himself so effortlessly. She couldn't understand him—how he could be so unbothered by everything, so unaffected by anything.

His indifference only reminded her of how much she had lost—how everything in her life had become a series of cold, distant moments.

She sighed, pushing the menu aside. "I'm not hungry," she said, her voice flat.

Ethan's eyes flickered toward her, his expression unreadable.

"I didn't say you were," he replied, his voice a little sharper now. "I said you'll eat. We're not leaving until they are here."

Mira opened her mouth to protest but stopped herself. She didn't want to argue with him. She was too tired for that. Too tired to care.

So instead, she picked up her fork, cutting into the salad in front of her. It was bland and tasteless, but she chewed mechanically, the feeling of food in her mouth barely registering.

The minutes ticked by slowly, and still, there was no sign of the clients.

Mira glanced at her watch, fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth. She couldn't stand the silence between them. It felt suffocating.

Finally, she spoke again, her voice tinged with frustration.

"How much longer are we going to wait?"

Ethan didn't look up from his phone. "They'll show up when they show up. Eat."

She wanted to snap at him, to ask why he was being so indifferent, but instead, she swallowed her frustration. She picked at her food, barely tasting it, her thoughts scattered.

Minutes turned into an hour, and still, there were no clients. Ethan didn't seem to mind the wait, and neither did he offer an explanation for it. Mira could feel the heat of anger slowly building inside her. What kind of game was he playing?

When they were finished with their meal, and the check had been paid, Ethan stood up, as composed as ever, as if nothing had happened.

"There," he said, his voice finally losing its edge of coldness.

"You've eaten. Now, let's go."

Mira stood up slowly, feeling the exhaustion in her bones. She didn't ask any more questions.

There was nothing left to say.

She followed him out of the restaurant, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders. She had eaten, yes. But nothing had changed. She was still empty, still struggling, and the world still felt like it was slipping through her fingers. The numbness didn't go away, not even after she followed his orders.

The sickness, the grief, the weight—it was all still there, inside her.