"Is the chain ready. You told me you will give me a call. I did not get any, I wanted to check if it is ready or not. I'm on my way. I can collect them," she spoke to the staff over the phone who collected her item.
"May I know your name?" The guy on the other end asked her.
"Naila,"
"Oh yes! I'm sorry. We were not able to complete the request. The stone needs polishing and chain requires replacement too. We will be sending it to our other showroom when the service takes place. I will call you back within two day." He said.
"But you did not tell me anything about the chain replacement before," Naila was not sure whether she forgot about it or he really did not inform her about.
"I apologise ma'am. I will definitely call you in two days."
"Fine," she said and hung up. She hailed a cab home. She did not wish to be locked out of her own house.
Around 10 PM, she reached the apartment complex. She stood for a moment outside the towering buildings, its dark windows staring back at her like silent eyes. Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the strap of her handbag and walked toward the gate.
The security guard looked up lazily from his chair. Without a word, she showed him her apartment number. He nodded and pressed the button to let her through.
Inside, the compound was unnaturally still. She crossed the garden slowly, her shoes scraping softly against the stone footpath leading to her building. The night sky hung low and heavy above her, too dim for stars, too clouded for moonlight. Not a single leaf stirred. The air clung to her skin, thick with heat and humidity.
By the time she reached the staircase, sweat had already begun to gather at the back of her neck. She ignored the elevator, as she always did, and started climbing.
First floor.
Second.
By the third, her breathing had turned uneven. Sweat trickled down her spine beneath her shirt, sticky and uncomfortable. The stairwell smelled faintly of concrete, dust, and someone's late-night cooking.
Fourth floor.
Her legs ached now. She grabbed the railing and dragged herself upward, muttering under her breath, "Why the hell did I bother climbing the stairs?"
When she finally reached the fifth floor, she stopped outside her apartment door, panting hard. Her chest rose and fell sharply in the suffocating silence of the corridor. Somewhere far below, a dog barked once and then everything went quiet again. Too quiet.
The door wasn't locked. She pushed it open carefully, wincing at the faint creak that slipped into the stillness. The foyer light blinked on automatically, bathing the entrance in a pale amber glow.
She glanced down at her sandy shoes. Tiny grains had already scattered across the polished floor. From her handbag, she pulled a crumpled packet of tissues and spread them neatly by the door before slipping off her shoes onto them, as though even the sand might betray her presence.
Then she moved. Softly. Deliberately. Like a cat threading through unfamiliar territory. Every step measured, every breath restrained. The house carried the deep silence of midnight, yet it did not feel asleep. It felt listening.
From the hallway, she noticed a thin ribbon of light spilling across the floorboards. The kitchen lights were still on. She stopped.
For a second, all she could hear was the slow ticking of the wall clock and the distant hum of the refrigerator. Someone had either forgotten to turn the lights off… or was still awake.
"Naila, where the hell were you?" But she was caught. A dark figure walked out of the guest bedroom. Wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxers, he turned the lights on.
Naila looked at him. His other hand was holding the phone. She can see that he also has his headphones on.
"Not done with games yet Danish?" She asked him and walked towards the bedroom, ignoring his question.
"Why do you care about what I do and play," he replied rudely. "You do your stuff and stay quiet. You don't have to interfere in my matters. It is not like you were here, preparing dinner or anything."
"Oh! So that's what it is," she smirked. "Angry because dinner was not ready when you wanted to stuff it down your throat," Naila replied in the same tone.
"Can you not speak slowly and a little softly? What's with this attitude and anger? Always angry,"
"I am angry, and you have no part in it? You said nothing? Did I walk into home angrily, did you not start it?" Naila asked back, trying to lower her voice.
"See, this is how you always escalate issues," he smirked. "Look at yourself," he just kept adding fuel to the fire.
"Oh my god! Seriously?" She walked towards him and this time one hundred percent angry mode. He had a knack for it. She could almost sense the joy in his eye, in crashing her. "I am the one who always starts it because I'm jobless. Is that what you mean by it?"
"I did not say that?" He argued back.
"What did you mean by saying, look at yourself?" She just could not let it go.
"The way you are now, barking at me, the moment you entered home, and questioning me like I did some crime," he argued back.
"When were you ever free? Has there been a time without the phone or a laptop in your hand? Who the hell are you chatting with? Whether you eat or sit on the toilet," she was so done.
"I have hundreds of people around me. Why do you care?" He kept irritating her.
"Exactly," she painfully smiled. "Except me, you have time for everybody. I am busy an invisible living object to you. No time to do anything, nothing to share, not worth spending time with me, not worth living," she tried to hold back her tears.
"Who would want to love you? The way you are, the way you shout, who cares? Running away would be wiser" He said it again. The same words that cuts through deeply every single time.
"As if you are worthy of anyone's love?" She replied back. "Men like you should remain single forever and die. If men like you cannot love their wives or express love, they shouldn't be allowed to marry one and ruin their loves." Naila walked towards the dining table and poured herself a glass of water.
"Correct, men like me deserve better than end up with women like you who don't know their place and just cannot manage their amger issues." He did it again and Naila totally lost it.
"Who has anger issues?" Naila shouted back, hurling the glass across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into hundreds of pieces, sharp, scattered fragments that felt too much like her own heart breaking apart. Her chest rose heavily with each breath.
"This," he said calmly, almost smugly as he gestured toward the broken glass, "is exactly what I was talking about."
The satisfaction in his voice made something inside her ache even more.
"I honestly don't know if I feel safe around you anymore."
Naila froze.
Tears streamed silently down her face, but she refused to let him see her break completely. Without another word, she grabbed her handbag from the chair and walked toward the bedroom. She shut the door behind her and locked it.
A few moments later, she stood beneath the shower, letting the water drown out the sound of her sobs. The pain in her chest felt unbearable.
Then she felt something sharp beneath her foot. She looked down. Against the white bathroom tiles, red footprints stained the floor. A tiny shard of glass had sliced into her heel.
Naila bent slowly, wincing as she pulled the piece out. She stared at it for a second before dropping it into the toilet and flushing it away.
Loud banging erupted on the bedroom door.
"Open it!" he shouted. "I need to take my laptop." She said nothing. The nerve of him, she thought bitterly. Ignoring the pounding, she wiped her face, steadied her breathing, and began freshening up as though the world outside the bathroom no longer existed. She looked at herself in the mirror. Eye swollen, heart broken, mind completely down. She stared for some long minutes. "I don't think I can do this anymore. I don't think I should put up with this anymore," she mumbled to herself while tears kept filling her eyes. She stopped patting her body and wrapped the towel around her, stepping out to dress up. About an hour later, she opened the door and walked out. She saw Danish cleaning the dining area and hall. Picking up all the shattered glass pieces. Naila remained quiet and walked towards the kitchen as her stomach growling for some food.
"Come next asking me for something, anything, I will show you then," he warned her and walked towards the room.