Silence would have been easier.
Rashi could have lived with distance.
She could have lived with less laughter.
She could have lived with tired conversations and busy evenings.
But silence was only the road.
Cruel words were the destination.
Sunny had begun speaking to her with an impatience that arrived without warning.
“Can’t you understand simple things?”
“How many times must I repeat?”
“Use your brain sometimes.”
At first, he said them in anger and apologized later.
Then he stopped apologizing.
Then he stopped noticing.
Rashi kept telling herself it was stress.
Work pressure.
Family pressure.
Money worries.
She gathered reasons for him the way broken people gather excuses for those they love.
One morning, she accidentally spilled coffee near the dining table while serving breakfast.
It was only a few drops.
Sunny looked up sharply.
“Even coffee you can’t carry properly?”
“I’ll clean it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It was an accident.”
“Your whole life is accident.”
The room fell still.
His mother pretended not to hear. His father continued reading the newspaper.
Rashi bent to wipe the floor because tears would have been more embarrassing.
Later, in their room, he spoke as if nothing had happened.
“Where is my blue shirt?”
She handed it to him silently.
He did not notice her swollen eyes.
Another evening, she forgot to add coriander to the dal.
He pushed the bowl aside.
“Why does every meal need mistake?”
“You could have just told me.”
“I’m tired of telling you everything.”
“You can speak softly.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Then behave in a way that deserves softness.”
The sentence stayed with her for days.
Words have strange power.
Hands bruise skin.
Words bruise memory.
One Sunday, Rashi’s parents visited unexpectedly.
She brightened for the first time in weeks.
Her mother brought sweets. Her father asked Sunny about work kindly. Everyone behaved politely.
When they left, Rashi walked them to the gate. Her mother squeezed her hand longer than usual.
After coming inside, Sunny’s face changed.
“Why did they come without informing?”
“They wanted to see me.”
“This is not a lodge.”
“They are my parents.”
“So? They should learn manners.”
“You could have spoken respectfully.”
He stepped closer.
“Don’t teach me respect in my own house.”
Rashi’s breath caught.
He had never stood over her like that before.
She moved back instinctively.
He noticed.
For a second, shame crossed his face.
Then pride buried it.
That night, she slept facing the edge of the bed.
Days later, while arranging clothes, she found an old college photo of them tucked inside a book.
Sunny smiling beside her.
Rashi glowing beside him.
Two people who believed kindness was permanent.
She stared at it for a long time.
When Sunny entered, she held it up gently.
“Remember this day?”
He barely glanced.
“Why keep old nonsense?”
He tossed the photo onto the table and walked away.
Something inside her sank quietly.
Not because of the photo.
Because he had begun insulting not only her—
But the love that once created them.