“Okay… leave all of this now,” I muttered, forcing my voice to sound casual, distant.
“I’ll remember this birthday for sure.”
I was busy fixing the pillows, smoothing the sheets—doing anything except looking at him.
“By the way,” I added, like it didn’t matter, “how much money did you give my father?”
Karl was removing his jacket, folding it neatly before placing it on the couch. He didn’t look at me.
“Enough,” he said.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’ll get.”
I scoffed softly, turning my back to him for a second, then hesitated. Another question burned inside me.
“And…” I said quietly, “why do you hate my best friend so much?”
This time, he paused.
“She’s not a threat,” I continued quickly, sitting on the bed. “She’s the only friend I love. She’s so nice, karl. She’s always with me. She’s like my real sister.”
He lay down on the couch, one arm behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The lamp beside the bed cast a soft yellow glow across the room. The window was open, curtains swaying gently as night air slipped in. Everything felt calm.
Too calm.
I turned onto my side, facing him.
He turned his head at the same time.
Our eyes met.
“Divyanka is really nice, you know,” I said softly. “Even when I broke up with my ex… she was there for me.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy.
My heart stopped.
Fuck.
The word echoed in my head like a gunshot.
No. No. No.
Karl didn’t move at first.
Then—slowly—he sat up.
“What,” he asked quietly, “ex?”
The way he said it wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t angry.
It was worse.
Controlled. Sharp. Deadly calm.
I swallowed hard, wishing—begging—to rewind time.
“I—I didn’t mean—” I stammered. “It was just—before—”
“Before me?” he finished.
The yellow light caught his face at the wrong angle again, shadows carving his expression into something unreadable. His jaw clenched.
“You never mentioned an ex,” he said.
“I didn’t think I had to,” I whispered.
He stood up.
Not rushing. Not threatening.
But the air shifted instantly.
“Who was he?” karl asked.
“That’s not fair,” I said, sitting up, panic rising. “You didn’t tell me anything about your past either.”
“My past doesn’t matter,” he replied coldly. “Yours does.”
“That’s not right.”
He took a step closer to the bed. Then stopped—clearly restraining himself.
“How long?” he asked.
I looked away. “Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
I hugged the pillow to my chest. “It’s over. Long over.”
"Why did it end?”
I didn’t answer.
Karl exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“Now you understand,” he said quietly.
“Understand what?”
“Why I don’t like Divyanka,” he replied. “She knows you before me. She knows parts of you I wasn’t there for.”
I stared at him. “That’s… that’s jealousy.”
“Yes,” he said without shame. “It is.”
The honesty stunned me.
“I don’t hate her because she’s dangerous,” he continued. “I hate her because when you run… you’ll run to her.”
Tears filled my eyes again—but this time, not from fear.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll leave you,” I whispered.
His eyes softened for just a second.
“It means you could,” he said.
He turned away, walking back to the couch, lying down again—this time facing the window.
“Sleep,” he added quietly. “We’ll talk about this another day.”
I lay there, heart racing, staring at his back.
One careless sentence.
One name.
And I had awakened something far more dangerous than his anger—
The past.
And in the silence between us, I realized
some names don’t fade…
They provoke wars.
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