Siddharth Kumar

The shrill wail of sirens echoed through the narrow street, cutting through the dense evening air. Fire engines and ambulances struggled to inch forward as street vendors frantically pushed their carts aside. From her seat at the café across the intersection, she watched, transfixed, as firefighters wrestled to free bodies from the crushed wreckage of a car. The sight made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to focus on the reason she was there.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, breaking the silence she had been trying to find in the chaos.

“Hello? Yeah, I’m at the corner café. You’ll see the emergency vehicles here… Oh, I see you,” she said, spotting him in the distance. He walked toward her, looking unusually polished; like a man nervously preparing for a first date.

“How was your day?” she asked as he sat down.

“As good as any workday can be,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry I’m late. Work piled up, you know how it is.”

“Don’t I just,” she quipped, though there was no warmth in her voice.

Their marriage had always been marked by friction and things they never quite said out loud. They’d known each other for years, married after what felt like a lifetime together, but still, they never seemed to settle into the rhythm of it. There were good days, yes, but those were few and far between now.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she asked, her voice unexpectedly soft. “I’ll never forget how your eyes lit up. The way you blushed when we made eye contact.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. I fell for you the moment I shook your hand.”

She let out a hollow laugh. “Come on.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted, the smile fading.

“I miss that,” she admitted, her words trembling.

There was a long pause. “Yeah,” he finally said, his eyes flickering away from hers.

After dinner, the weight of what she needed to say pressed down on her chest. She could feel the words forming in her throat, suffocating her. She had to say it, now or never.

“I love you,” she said, but the words felt brittle, like they might break apart if she spoke any louder.

“I know, babe. I love you too,” he replied, flashing her a grin, oblivious to the storm brewing in her heart.

She steeled herself, looking directly into his eyes. “I need to talk to you.”

His smile faltered as he set down his glass. “About what?”

“Do you think this is working?” she asked, her voice eerily calm.

A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “What do you mean?”

“Us. This… marriage.” She hesitated, feeling the ache in her chest grow. “Is love enough to keep it together?”

He shrugged, trying to keep things light. “I mean, isn’t 95% of the job done if we’re in love?”

Her frustration boiled over, her voice rising. “This is what you don’t get! I have dreams, things I want to do with you. I want to spend time together; travel, cook, share a life. But you’re never there. You’re always somewhere else.”

“I know,” he muttered, staring past her, his focus distant. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I don’t think this is working anymore,” she said, the words finally spilling out. “Maybe we need to take a step back. Reevaluate. Or maybe…” she hesitated, her throat tightening. “Maybe we need to go our separate ways.”

He blinked, his face unreadable. “Separate ways?”

“Yes. If we can’t make this work… maybe it’s time to live our lives apart,” she whispered, the enormity of the statement hanging between them.

He said nothing, the silence stretching painfully long. She averted her gaze, the weight of the moment settling like a stone in her chest.

“Let’s head home,” she said at last, her voice hollow.

“I can’t. I need to pick something up from a colleague’s house. He’s leaving town tomorrow,” he replied, as if nothing had just happened.

“Fine,” she snapped, biting back her frustration. “I’ll get an Uber.”

“I’ll be back in an hour,” he offered weakly.

“What if you don’t come back?” she asked coldly, not meeting his eyes. “It’s your choice.”

They stood up, the tension between them palpable. The street, once a chaotic mess of sirens and flashing lights, had begun to clear. She got into the car and handed the Uber driver her OTP.

“Ma’am, it was a bad accident back there,” the driver said, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice dull, as if she were numb to everything around her.

“A woman. Looked like she was in her thirties,” he said solemnly. “Didn’t make it.”

Her heart sank as the car began to roll forward. She glanced back through the window, catching a glimpse of her husband still standing by the diner. He suddenly broke into a frantic sprint toward the accident site, his face contorted in terror.

Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him fall to his knees beside the ambulance, his sobs cutting through the night air.

She could barely make out what was happening, but then she saw him clutching something; someone against his chest.

It was her.