Then, a strange taste lingered. The ice cream was oddly salty. I frowned, thinking it was off until I realized my tears were falling onto it. The realization struck me hard, and I quickly wiped my face with a tissue the vendor handed me, nodding in quiet thanks.
As I walked home, my phone buzzed with a message from Desar. It was a casual check-in:
‘Have you arrived home?’
The empty words stung, reminding me of the way he’d brushed off my pain tonight. I ignored it.
A few minutes later, another message arrived.
‘Everyone didn’t have a good meal because of you today. Let’s invite them to dinner another day.’
His indifference felt like a slap, his words filled with blame rather than any real concern. It was as though he thought my absence at that dinner was an inconvenience, rather than seeing it as a sign of how deeply he’d hurt me.
His name flashed across the screen once more as he tried calling. I placed my phone aside, turning a deaf ear to his attempts. If he couldn’t understand the weight of what he’d done, then there was nothing left to say.
Later, as I climbed into bed, I scrolled through my messages one last time, more out of habit than anything.