MrDreamy
Favoured Frenzy
Scene 1: The friend and her
“I'm going to ask you something,” the friend said. “And please don't give me the answer you think you should give.”“What?”
“Are you happier now?”
She smiled faintly. “I'm fine.”
“I didn't ask whether you're fine. I asked whether you're happier.”
The smile disappeared. “No,” she admitted. “I'm not.”
The friend let the silence remain. Sometimes, people say they're fine because they aren't ready to explain their pain. Sometimes, they say it because they hope that if they repeat it often enough, it might become true.
“Then why did you let it end?” the friend asked.
“Because I couldn't keep living with the thought that one day he will leave me. I kept asking for reassurance, and somehow, every time I got it, I needed it again.”
“And now?”
“Now I don't have anyone to reassure me.”
She laughed softly, but there was no happiness in it.
The friend knew that she wasn't trying to make herself the victim. For the first time, she seemed willing to look at the part she had played in their unhappiness.
“I know I made mistakes,” she continued. “But I wasn't trying to control him. I was scared that I wasn't enough.”
“Did you ever tell him that?”
“I told them I was scared he would leave. I don't think I ever explained how scared I was of being the reason he left.”
There was a difference between admitting fear and understanding how that fear shaped one's behaviour. She was beginning to see it now, although understanding something after losing it often hurts more than understanding it in time.
“And if he came back?” the friend asked.
She took a long breath. “I'd want him to. But I'd be afraid of becoming that person again.”
“What if you could learn to love him without letting that fear make your decisions?”
She looked down at her hands. “Then maybe I'd finally know how to keep what I was so afraid of losing.”
The friend didn't tell her that everything would be all right. Instead, the friend stayed beside her.
Scene 2: The friend and him
“So, that's it? You've moved on?” the friend asked.“Is that what people do after a breakup? Just switch everything off?”
“I'm asking you.”
He looked away. “No. I haven't moved on.”
“Then why didn't you try harder?”
He turned towards the friend, irritation rising in his voice.
“Do you think I didn't try? I explained myself a hundred times. I reassured her. I changed plans. I stopped talking about certain things because I knew she would lead to another argument. Somewhere along the way, I stopped being myself just to prove that I wasn't going anywhere.”
His frustration wasn't an excuse, but it wasn't imaginary either. He had been trying to protect his peace, yet he had also begun withdrawing from conversations that might have helped them understand each other.
“And did you ever tell her that?” the friend asked.
“Of course I did.”
“No. You told her what she was doing wrong. Did you tell her how lonely you felt while being in a relationship?”
He opened his mouth, then stopped. It was an uncomfortable question because it asked him to look beyond what had been done to him and consider what he had failed to communicate.
“I didn't want another fight,” he finally said.
“So you chose silence?”
“I chose peace.”
“Were you at peace?”
He didn't answer. The friend let the question settle between them.
“That's the problem with silence,” the friend continued. “Sometimes we use it to protect a relationship from another argument or we use it to protect ourselves from a difficult conversation. And without realising it, we make the other person feel more alone than any argument ever could.”
He rubbed his forehead. “I needed space. She needed reassurance.”
“Perhaps neither of you knew how to ask for what you needed without making the other feel wrong.”
For the first time, he didn't try to defend himself.
“Do you still love her?” the friend asked.
He glanced at his phone. Their old conversations were still there. He hadn't deleted them, though he rarely opened them now. There was a peculiar kind of pain in keeping memories that you were no longer allowed to live.
“That's the problem,” he said quietly. “I still do.”
“Then what's stopping you?”
“I'm afraid we'll go back to the same place. That we'll hurt each other again. I can't go through that all over again.”
The friend nodded. “That's a fair fear. But are you afraid the relationship will fail again, or are you afraid to try because it might actually work if both of you change?”
He looked away. For once, he had no answer ready.
And perhaps that was the beginning of change—not a sudden realization that he had been wrong, but the willingness to consider that he might not have been entirely right either.
Not sure, why they needed common friend to break the ice. But that's the friendship is all about. From nowhere friends come and help to save relationship.
To be continued ...
