s.story 2: The Quiet of What Remains

Afnan woke to the familiar buzz of the phone on the bedside table, a sound that had become part of mornings in the same way a dull ache settles into the body. The name on the screen blinked. Oni. A reminder of last night’s argument, which had stretched late into the dark, both trivial and somehow deeply wounding. Afnan hadn’t replied then, preferring the quiet. But today the messages felt different, as if the storm had finally passed and the air had shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward calm.

The word cheating hovered in Afnan’s mind. It was a word he disliked, not only for what it meant but for what it carried with it — the sense of a breach, a betrayal that could not be undone. And yet, it existed everywhere, clinging to the edges of people’s lives like something that refused to let go. Why do we betray? What compels us to cross lines we once promised never to touch? Afnan had always thought himself above it. But here he was, standing inside the fog of it, unsure of his own place in the story.

It had been three years since he first met Oni at a summer gathering thrown by friends, one of those nights when the air feels heavy and the tension almost pleasurable. Oni had a way of drawing people close without trying, the way the moon draws the tide. Afnan, quieter and more inward, had found himself moving toward that pull.

For a time it had been electric. Oni’s unpredictability, their energy, the heat between them. But storms have a way of turning dangerous. It began with small moments. Flirtations that felt as if they reached beyond the harmless. Glances that belonged to someone else. Afnan forgave these things, after difficult conversations patched over with words that felt more like temporary coverings than real solutions. They moved forward, or at least pretended to.

The cracks widened. Dating profiles that stayed active. Messages from strangers that lingered longer than they should. Late-night exchanges that felt too private to be innocent. Sometimes Afnan confronted Oni. Other times he stayed silent, convincing himself that relationships were meant to be messy, that compromise was simply part of the deal.

But Afnan had a secret too. He had grown quietly fond of Riz, Oni’s closest friend. At first it had seemed harmless. Even Oni had teased him about it in lighter moments. Then Riz announced he was leaving the country, and the fondness began to shift into something more insistent. They said their goodbyes, but the connection didn’t dissolve. Riz reached out again, unexpectedly eager, and something in Afnan responded before he had time to think. They met twice in that last week. What had once been a passing thought became something that complicated everything.

Afnan told himself it would fade once Riz was gone. Distance, he thought, would restore perspective. But Riz did not fade, and his messages and calls began to pull Afnan into a new kind of storm.

When Oni found out, Afnan thought perhaps he would be understood. That honesty would matter. He had forgiven Oni before, and maybe they could forgive him now. But Oni’s reaction was swift and cold. They ended things without space for conversation or repair.

Afterward, Afnan stared at his own reflection, feeling the weight of his decisions. He had wanted to believe he was the better person, that he had not really cheated, but the thought felt weak and hollow.

He rose from bed and breathed deeply. The phone buzzed again with Oni’s name. Afnan thought about replying but left it untouched. The day stretched ahead, full of the consequences of what had already happened.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been for weeks. Afnan walked without direction, letting his thoughts circle — Oni, Riz, the tangled steps that had led here. Did anyone ever get through love without stumbling? Maybe everyone was just doing their best not to trip over themselves.

He passed a café where a couple leaned close over coffee, laughing softly. For a moment he felt envy, but it passed quickly. Even they, he thought, must have their own storms. You could never tell from the outside.

A memory surfaced of something a professor had once said. We are not shaped by our mistakes, but by how we rise from them. At the time it had seemed too easy. Now it felt true. He could not rewrite the story with Oni, nor control whatever Riz felt, but maybe he could still move forward.

He kept walking. The rhythm of his steps felt steady, almost comforting. There were no answers yet, but the weight was lighter than it had been. Perhaps that was enough.

At the corner he stopped and looked down an unfamiliar street. Life was never a straight path. It bent, it tangled, it surprised you. He felt a small smile forming without deciding to.

The phone hummed again in his pocket. This time it was Riz. Afnan’s thumb hovered over the screen, then he slipped the phone away. Unanswered. Unresolved. And that, he thought, might be fine.

Not every story is meant to have a clean ending.