Open your hand, He says in a voice so calm that pinches her heart, like always. She tightens her clenched fist a bit more, for she knows once opened, not only herself but both of them will be left empty-handed once again.
They sit there, in her room beside her writing desk, staring at the laptop screen. So close but so apart that there are worlds between them. Listening to the tick-ticks and the silence, hearts sinking to immeasurable depths.
They are different. She lies. He tells the truth. She saves her world but destroys herself. He destroys his world but saves himself. Always. Yet they sit here, bound together with their weird connection, like nothing ever happened when their world is on fire. Fire? is it dangerous than silence? Of course it is. It destroys? and what does silence do? It kills. Destructed can be rebuilt, but there is no coming back after death.
She opens her fist. Nothing happens. The air still suffocates. Tick-ticks keep on piercing their hearts. and silence? It has already killed them.
I am sorry for your loss. I am sure you are sorry too, for mine. Our losses will look different, from the outside. But trust me, both of us have lost ourselves forever. Forever.
17 July 17.