Chapter 4 Helplessly

The tires hummed on the highway, the only sound inside the car louder than the silence between them. He gripped the steering wheel with tight fingers, jaw clenched. She sat with her face turned to the window, her expression unreadable-calm, even bored-but her eyes flicked rapidly, betraying her storm within.

He pulled into the driveway with a sudden brake. She didn't wait for the engine to stop. Her door opened fast, and she walked briskly inside, her heels clicking against the concrete, then disappearing into the house. He sat in the car a moment longer, staring ahead, then leaned back and sighed. The exhaustion wasn't just physical. It never was.

Inside, she dropped her purse on the floor. She didn't even take off her shoes. She walked straight to the bedroom, shut the door softly behind her, and finally let go.

The tears came fast, hot and angry. Not just from the argument, but from the months of trying. The years of hoping it would be different. From the way she had to act like she didn't care in the car. Because if she showed him she was hurt, she'd feel weak. And if he saw her break, maybe he'd win.

But what was winning, really, if they were both losing?

She curled on the edge of the bed, the pillow catching her tears.

Derap stepped out of the car and into the light rain without a word. Not a glance back. Not even a sigh. Just the soft click of the door as she shut it behind her like she was ending a meeting, not walking away from a man who just poured his heart out.

Richard stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned pale. He watched her through the corner of his eye-how she walked up the path, calm, collected, like they hadn't just fought in the car like strangers trying to remember how to be lovers.

The porch light flicked on as she approached. Still no look back.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sound sharp and hollow inside the small car.

She didn't even flinch.

It was that silence, more than anything, that broke him. Not yelling. Not insults. Just indifference. Like he was invisible. Like nothing he said mattered. Like he didn't matter.

Rain streaked down the windshield, but Richard didn't move. He sat there, eyes fixed on the door she'd walked through without looking back. It took everything in him not to follow-out of habit, out of hope.

But something had shifted.

He rested his head against the steering wheel, letting the engine hum beneath him like a quiet reminder that he was still alive, still here, even if she didn't see him.

Then, slowly, he sat back up. Reached for the keys. Turned the car off.

He could go inside. Pretend everything was fine again. Pretend he wasn't slowly dying in a relationship where love had turned to silence.

The door closed behind her with a quiet, final click.

Richard stared ahead, jaw clenched, a storm brewing in his chest. No rain. No thunder. Just the dry silence of a night gone cold.

That's what did it.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, the leather warm from his hands. His heart pounded, not from sadness-but from anger. From exhaustion. From the pain of being invisible in a marriage where he gave everything and got silence in return.

I'm done chasing someone who doesn't want to be caught.

He turned the key. The engine started.

This time, he didn't sit and wait for her to notice he was hurting.

He shifted into drive and pulled away from the house without a second glance.

No destination. Just movement.

He passed late-night diners, empty parking lots, glowing convenience stores. The city was quiet, but it was alive-and for the first time in months, so was he.

He found himself pulling into an old part of town. A small diner still lit up like it was expecting someone. Richard parked and went inside.

The waitress gave him a tired smile. "Coffee?"

He nodded. "Black."

As he sat at the booth with the chipped table and warm mug, he breathed-really breathed. The weight of the last argument, the years of being ignored, slowly peeled off his shoulders.

He wasn't here to run away. He was here to remember who he was before he felt like a ghost in his own life.

He watched people come and go. Alone, but not lonely.

And in that quiet corner of a no-frills diner, Richard didn't feel broken. He felt awake.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. Maybe a hard conversation. Maybe a decision.

But tonight, he chose himself.

And that was a beginning.

The coffee had long gone cold, but Richard stayed seated, fingers wrapped around the chipped mug as if holding it could somehow keep him grounded. He had spent the last hour watching the world carry on-quiet conversations, neon signs blinking lazily, headlights sweeping past the windows.

The ache in his chest wasn't just from the argument. It was from years of being unseen. Tonight just made it impossible to ignore.

He pulled out his phone, checking again. As if he's expecting something. No calls. Nothing.

It hit harder than he expected.

But instead of heading home like he usually did-back into the walls where his silence was background noise-Richard turned the ignition and pulled out of the lot. He didn't know exactly where he was going until he was already halfway there.

To Peter's place.

Peter had been his best friend since university. They were opposites in some ways-peter was loud, blunt, a walking burst of honesty-but he had always been the one person who saw Richard clearly, even when Richard tried to hide behind smiles and politeness.

They hadn't talked in a couple of weeks. Life got busy. Richard got good at pretending.

But tonight wasn't a night for pretending.

When he pulled up outside Peter's apartment, it was past midnight. He hesitated for a moment before finally getting out and walking up the steps.

He rang the bell. Peter opened the door a minute later, barefoot, wearing sweatpants and a confused expression.

"Bro? You good?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Richard didn't answer at first. He just stood there, exhausted in every way.

Peter took one look at him and stepped aside. "Come in."

Richard entered, sank onto the couch, and let out a long breath.

Peter closed the door and walked into the kitchen. "You want tea or a beer?"

"Beer," Richard said quietly.

Minutes later, they sat in the dim living room, a cold bottle in Richard's hand, the hum of the fridge in the background.

"I had a fight with Dera," Richard Finally said. "Worse than usual. She got out of the car like I didn't even exist."

Peter nodded slowly. "Same old?"

Richard didn't need to explain. Peter had heard it before. The silence. The coldness. The way Richard kept giving love into a space that didn't return it.

"I didn't go home," Richard said. "I couldn't."

Peter leaned back. "Good. You needed a break from being invisible."

Richard looked down at the label on his beer, voice low. "Is it wrong that I'm angry? That I'm tired of trying?"

"No," peter said. "It's human. You can love someone and still get tired of bleeding for them."

They sat in silence for a moment, a better silence-safe, honest.

Peter clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You can stay here tonight. Hell, stay as long as you need. But promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Don't go back to being a ghost. Not for her. Not for anyone."

Arman nodded. For the first time in a long time, he felt seen.

Not fixed. Not whole. But seen.

And that, tonight, was enough.