Danish,
When I first met you, unofficially, at college during the annual event in my final year, I had no idea that you would one day become such a significant part of my life. If I recall correctly, I did kind of like you, a young, successful man who still remembered to visit the college even three long years after graduating. I had immense respect for you when our friends introduced us to each other. I had never met someone who had travelled so much at such a young age. You seemed like a jovial person, happily hanging out with your friends. I liked that.
Two months later, when my parents began approaching me with numerous marriage proposals, I couldn't accept any of them. That's when I came across yours. When they pressured me again, I finally caved in because it was you. It was you whom I thought I had met, knew well enough, and kind of liked. I did not care about what you looked like, what you thought of me, or any of the things that were supposed to matter. I simply said yes when they insisted, only because it was you. I felt a sense of confidence.
I was genuinely happy when we started chatting. I knew that you hardly made calls, but I felt content with your texts. At least it was you, someone I knew, someone who was already in my circle. I ignored the fact that you had a habit of ignoring me, my texts, my calls, my words, and everything that involved me. Instead, I justified it with what my mother always said: "Men don't have the time to tend to women or their emotional needs while they are busy making a living. It is the woman who should understand and adjust to his needs. Serve your husband in every way, submit yourself, give him the family he works hard for, and stay happy."
So I taught myself to believe that you were simply busy, that you had too much to take care of before the wedding, and that there were more pressing things demanding your attention. I kept justifying your absence, convincing myself that you must have something important to do, while I slowly rotted away waiting for you.
I still remember how badly we fought the day before the wedding. I wanted to call it off. After that fight, I did not want to marry you at all. But once again, I was convinced otherwise. I was told to wait patiently for you to come to me, to see me, to see my love for you, and to remember me for who I truly was. I wished, just once, to see you yearn for me the way I yearned for you. But I realized later that it had always been one-sided. I regretted it from then on. My love for you was nothing but a joke to you. You never cared enough to see it. Instead, you looked down on me completely. I became someone who was worth nothing in your eyes.
Every time you rejected me when I tried to get close to you, I wanted to run away, to disappear, to hide. Yet I kept trying. You never did.
I cried on our first night together, and that was only the beginning.
I was lonely even when I was with you. And that was wrong. It took me a long time to accept that truth, to make a decision, and to finally look for a way out of that loneliness.
I realised you never had me in your heart when you kept your distance, when you pushed me away, when you made fun of me in front of your friends, when you made sure that you will never lend your hand, when I read all your chats about her, and when you hit me. You could just do it all, without having a care in the world, with no thoughts about how it would make me feel. But I'm glad you showed your true colours.
And here we are. I won't regret this divorce. I don't want to. I choose this. For everything I have gone through, I need this. I hope we both find our happiness in our paths ahead. Please don't stir kore troubles for us both.
Regards,
Naila
She write everything she wanted to convey. The pain she endured, the yearning she had for him that slowly died, the realization, and the decisions she has made for herself, her future. She felt content.
Naila looked around the house once again. It broke her heart to think she will no longer will get to live in her comfort bubble. She was aware it's going to be really tough outside.
Naila prepared a cup of coffee for the last time and settled on the couch. She hummed to her favorite song. Then she carried her bags and she closed the door behind her. That was it. No drama, no words, no goodbyes, no tears. She approached the elevator and she disappeared. All she knew was that she would never return back to live with Danish any more. She was done.
Naila went to her parents' home straight. When she rang doorbell, her father, Zakir opened the door. "Your daughter is here," he called out to her mother, looking and sounding extremely disappointed.
"Well, that's not a warm welcome," Naila mumbled and stepped in. Naila's mother hurried and walked towards her, to help her with the luggage.
"Where is Danish?" She searched outside the door.
"He is not here," Naila replied.
"What do you mean?" Mother asked back. "Did you come on your own?"
"I did. He is on a business trip," Naila cleared the doubt.
"You could not wait till he got back?" Zakir asked. "How many times have I told you Sarah? Your daughter would return home, fighting with her husband. How many times have I told you that she is the type to get divorced and not live happily together?" Zakir spoke loudly and angrily.
"Uppa, can you stop?" Naila told her father. She started feeling suffocating the moment she entered the house. She took a deep breath and walked towards her room.