Where is my home?

The Unexpected Visit

Weeks had passed since Riyan and I had that heavy conversation, and in that time, a strange uneasiness had settled between us. Riyan, as thoughtful as ever, seemed to sense my discomfort and had given me my space. We spoke, of course, about mundane things, like household chores and everyday life, but our conversations never delved beyond the surface.

Riyan, though he tried to engage me in light conversations, couldn't hide the worry in his eyes. I could see it every time he looked at me, the way his gaze lingered on my face, searching for a sign that I was the girl he remembered. But I was different now, and he knew it. But he also knew me well enough to understand that he couldn't force me to talk, no matter how badly he wanted to.

Days turned into weeks, and still, our uneasy silence prevailed. Riyan's uneasiness had turned into a kind of resigned acceptance. He knew I wasn't the person he had once known, and he was trying to accept me for who I had become. But I could sense his disappointment, the unspoken hurt in his eyes, and it weighed heavily on my heart.

As Riyan and I continued to live under the same roof, the silence between us was deafening. But, as time passed, a sense of resigned acceptance began to settle in. Riyan, though saddened by the change in me, was slowly coming to terms with the fact that I was different, and he was attempting to make peace with it. I could see his struggle to accept this new version of me, but I also saw a hint of understanding in his eyes, like he recognized that this was the path I've chosen.

Despite the distance between us, Riyan continued to treat me with kindness, not because he wanted anything from me, but simply because that was the sort of person he was. He was still the sweet, gentle man I had once known, but the air between us was heavy with unspoken words and unspoken feelings.

Riyan tried to connect with me in small ways, asking how my day was or if there was anything I needed. But I only gave him brief, noncommittal answers, not because I didn't have anything to say, but because I felt like there were too many things tangled up in my heart and mind.

Riyan could tell that there was more going on within me, but whenever he tried to broach the subject, I would shut down, change the topic, or just give him a fake smile and tell him the usual, "Everything's fine."

As the sun set outside, casting a warm orange glow through the quiet room, I was sitting on the couch, engrossed in a book, as had become my routine. I was waiting for Riyan, expecting him home from work, so that we could share our usual quiet meal together. This time of the day had become one of the few moments we spent together as a couple.

Just as I was getting ready for our routine dinner, my phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message. Expecting it to be Riyan, I picked it up only to read his message, informing me that there had been an urgent business trip that had come up, and he wouldn't be able to make it home for the next four days.

Putting the phone down, I let out a deep sigh. The quiet of the room suddenly felt less comfortable, almost stifling. I had been so used to our routine, to him coming home and us sharing a silent meal each night. And now, I had four days to myself, four days to figure out what I truly wanted.

I closed the book I was reading and looked around the room. Everything seemed so silent – too silent, like the calm before a storm. I had never spent so much time alone before marriage. The thought of it was both frightening and intriguing. What would I do? How would I spend my time?

I got up from the couch and walked over to the window, looking out at the setting sun. The world outside seemed to be going about its business, oblivious to my inner turmoil. I wondered what Riyan was doing, what he was feeling right now. Was he thinking about me, or was he too preoccupied with his work trip?