Viola

That evening, the air in the room was thick and still, like frozen glass. The light from her phone screen fell like a cold spot on Viola's face as she lay there, staring into someone else's life behind that glass, oblivious to her own life crumbling at the seams right at her feet.

You sat at her feet, lost, invisible. Six months of hope, a month of emptiness, then forgiveness again... And again this ice. You reached out to her so many times, knocked on the closed door, receiving only a cold echo in response. You filled all the space she left, but it only grew wider.

Clenching your fists until your knuckles turned white, you felt something fragile and important breaking inside you, in the very heart of this oppressive silence. You could no longer be strong, you couldn't pretend everything was okay. Shaking, you leaned forward and hugged her, burying your tear-stained face somewhere in her shoulder. It wasn't just a hug—it was a plea, an attempt to reach through the wall.

"Darling, please, stop being silent..." her voice broke into a whisper, saturated with pain and fatigue. The words stuck in her throat. "What's wrong? Just tell me... What did I do wrong? Am I bothering you?"

You knew the answer. You knew you weren't being heard, that your attempts were being dashed against the armor of her indifference, but you asked anyway. Because silence was becoming unbearable.

“I don’t understand why you write so little, why you don’t talk to me... Maybe I really am too clingy. But please answer...” you sobbed, clinging to her like a straw. “I’m so tired, Viola... I’m so tired of trying to get through to you and seeing how easily you laugh with others. I just want to understand. I can’t go around in circles anymore, feeling like a mistake that you correct and then cross out again.”

And she probably didn't even look up from her phone. After all, she'd known for a long time: you're not going anywhere. And the fact that you're not going anywhere can be overlooked.