Ghosts in The Silence

Nights were unbearable.

By day, everything could distract me: with constant scanning, group conversations, and jobs I actually didn't give a hoot about, while at night, crawling in, everything stood still; silence cuffed me hard, making every thought speak loud, which had to be avoided. Her absence was no memory; it lay upon my chest until the darkness of my room became a sanctuary for all the moments that we had shared, moments that I knew I should not revisit, but did again and again.

Smoothing through the old photos was a habit that I knew I needed to break, mainly because it would only leave me raw. But one picture caught my eyes: this lazy Sunday morning, even the world outside seemed to have come to a standstill. Sun streaming in through the window, leaning on me, half-closed eyes, that little sleepy smile that I had always loved. She had worn one of my old shirts that drowned her tiny size, and at the time, it had all felt right. I had stared a lot longer at the photo than was necessary; the ache setting deeper until finally, I locked the phone and sent it flying onto the bed.

She was gone. I knew that. But the knowledge didn't deter the ache of longing that burrowed within me.

The next morning, midroutine, with a toothbrush hanging off my mouth, my cell phone buzzed on the counter. Immediately, my heart betrayed me, leaping with hope …what if it was her? But it wasn't.

It was Ishnehal.

Her message read:

"Hey, found that book we talked about yesterday. Want me to send a pic or keep it as a surprise?

A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. It was such a little thing, yet somehow, it seemed like a lifeline. There was something refreshingly usual about our chitchat after days of emotional static.

"Surprise me," I typed back. "I'll trust your taste, for now."

Her answer was instant.

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"Dangerous move, yet I like it."

We continued, easily texting for a bit, falling into the same ease of banter we had established in the bookstore. It lacked weight; it was playful, simple, light, conversations. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn't drowning inside my head, and I wasn't haunted by ghosts from my past. And in that minute frame of time, I came to think I hadn't thought about her at all.

That wasn't any big epiphany, but monumental to the tempest which was sweeping me along-perhaps a bit like the very first crack of light that finally breaks through after the storm has passed.

Later in the afternoon, Ishnehal invited me for a walk.

"There's a park beside the bookstore," she said. "It's full of people to watch."

At first, I hedged. Having to meet anyone, be out in the world, seemed like too much, too hard to bear. I remembered how light my weight had felt while talking to her, how easily she'd tug me out of the spiraling darkness of my mind. Maybe it would help a little, spending more time with her.

Quiet at the entry into the park, cool, with a breeze that blew softly to rustle the leaves. Far at the end of the entry stood Ishnehal, beaming at the sight of me.

Hey," she said, smiling-a real one that felt like the sun on my skin. "You made it.

We strolled, talked to each other so easily. She let me see all that was happening to the minutest detail: children running behind the pigeons, a dog faking the chase to a squirrel, the old couple on the bench interlocking fingers.

It was as if it had been an eternity since I truly saw the world anew for the first time: not only the pain within my heart, the absence, but life from that absence. The sadness was still there; it lingered deeply in the background, but it had lightened so very much and had become so much more bearable. Maybe I wouldn't have to carry it with me anymore.

We collapsed onto a bench overlooking the lake, lapsing into comfortable silence as the sun began to set behind the water's edge, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. It wasn't until then that Ishnehal turned to me; her voice was quiet, yet sure.

Sometimes, she said, things have to fall apart to make room for the better.

My eyes went out to the water, where her words seemed to hang between us on the air. The gold sheen from the sun sank into the ripples on its surface, and for the first time in far too long, I allowed myself to believe that maybe she was right.

"Yeah," I whispered low to hear myself rather than for her, "Maybe."

It wasn't some kind of great epiphany or that sort of moment when everything just clicked into place cinematically; it was rather like the soft flicker-one of hope, reminding me that life lay beyond this heartbreak, going on, waiting for me to step into it.

And in that, well, it sufficed.

Enough to last me through the night.