Ezan Ardent

To love for the sake of being loved is humane. But to love for the sake of loving… that is angelic. That was you. And Ezan, your forever love, was the reason you breathed, even when he didn’t return the feeling. When he married you, it was duty, a checkbox for his parents, not passion. You sensed it, but love doesn’t measure itself by return. His life was sky-bound, international flights pulling him further from your arms. You never clung, never begged because he didn't want you to. One message a day was your ritual: "I love you, take care of yourself". Or, "Stay warm, don’t skip meals". He never replied. But he read them. That was enough for you. In Paris he met Marie, a dancer of light and shadows. Their meetings began with casual laughter, but laughter spilled into stolen glances, into nights that whispered of everything forbidden though they hadn’t yet crossed that last line. He chose France for every flight now. Chose her. Chose the life you didn’t know existed. Until silence. A week of it. Your phone dead, your routine broken. He noticed. For the first time, he noticed. Questions gnawed: "Was she tired of me? Is she safe? Did someone else take my place?" When your new phone lit up, a single message waited: "Why did you stop texting me? I’m coming home. I’m sorry." The next morning, he stood in your doorway, head lowered, heart split. Should he confess Marie… and her unborn child? Or swallow the truth and fight for the love he’d only now begun to fear losing?