A Silent Night

I suddenly felt her soft head resting on my shoulder while I was reading my book, it was unusual of her. I didn’t say anything, neither did she to me. All I could feel was the weight of her head, the citrusy smell of her conditioner, and silence covering the dimly lit bedroom.

She just sat beside me, held my arm tight. I wish I didn’t know that her hand was cold. I couldn’t see her face, how her eyes sighed, how her lips pursed together, just her short hair. I knew she was still mad at me; I could see all those red fumes as she leaned on me, I don’t get angry easily, but today was one of those days when I had a lot going on. I regret raising my voice at her. We brushed it off when it happened in the evening, I said my sorry later of course. That didn’t help it resolve.

I finished reading a short chapter from my book, it was about the tale of Cupid and Psyche, I kept it aside. She was still awake, reading the book along with me. She took my hand, started filling the gaps with hers, as if my long fingers were meant to be converged as a part of her, to be complete with warmth. As I tried to reach the light switch, I felt her arm twitch. I stopped. I was puzzled. I knew she was scared of the dark, a train of thoughts went into my head - How come she’s still scared when I’m with her? Why is she pushing herself? I knew the answers to all of them. She doesn’t want to sleep. Not without feeling the usual me in me.

She lifted her head from my shoulder, still avoiding looking at me, but kept holding my hand. “Are you still mad at me?” I said, looking at her face. She didn’t respond. I leaned on her shoulder, pretending to be asleep. She took my hand again, started feeling the length of my fingers. I suddenly woke up, held her other hand, and caught her by surprise. I noticed her eyes were indeed weary, she didn’t smile all evening. She quickly closed her eyes to avoid further sight of me. I started giving small kisses on her face, everywhere except her lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said, never stop talking to me, the silence is unbearable. Please.” I said, pleading with her to talk.

She slowly opened her eyes and looked at me, tearing up. She hugged me and started crying, dripping tears on my shirt. “Fuck you and your Cupid stories, I hate you. Never EVER say it again, you know how hard it was, when you sat here pretending like nothing happened, reading your stupid book?” she said, trying to stop her tears. At this point, I didn’t want to justify what I’d done. I made her cry. Nothing could change it. I hope that she’ll forgive me. “I’m sorry. I’ll say it a hundred times for you while kissing you. I’m calling in sick tomorrow. Let’s head to Amro, eat lots of macarons and croissants,” I said, calming her.

It took me some time to console her, and get her smiling again. She slept like a tired baby, arms wrapped around me. Talking about Biscoff and coffee did help me stop her crying. I told myself I would never make her cry again, I promised her that I’d never get angry at her. I’m grateful for her, she’s everything that I could ever ask. We slept until 11 AM on a Tuesday morning, and ordered a biryani from Mehfil. As for the evening, we enjoyed our time eating lots of macarons, croissants, biscoff and coffee while joking about our funny moments. The night arrived, and we both slept blushing at each other.