Eve: 👰♀️“Adam, you never understand our emotions. You don’t get what women go through.”
Adam: 👨✈️“And you never understand the love we express. You have your own guidebook and definition for love and expect men to follow it without instructions.”
After countless arguments, I found myself exhausted. I asked for a break—since I am not his girlfriend anymore, I couldn’t exactly ask for a break-up. So, I suggested not talk to each other for a while. There was a brief silence before he agreed (happily).
It seemed that men often seek silence from their wives. I was left feeling like I was the only one desperately holding our relationship. Damn, I had fought so many battles for this man, yet he doesn’t even bother to understand my emotions. I was hurt.
For two days, my world seemed to crumble. I couldn’t focus on anything; I was slipping up in every aspect of my life.
“Don’t call him,” I told myself repeatedly. But, in a moment of weakness, I dialed his number.
He answered in a cool manner, as if nothing has happened between us.
"You haven’t bothered to call me since this morning," I pointed out.
“True,” he replied. “But I answered your call right away. Not like you—who haven’t responded despite my multiple attempts to reach you over the past two days.”
“Damn your practicality!” I thought, but kept my frustration in check. I wanted him to come home, and have a heart-to-heart and solve the issues. But he insisted that discussing our problems would only make things worse. His practical approach to relationships was driving me crazy.
“How about we go for coffee?” He asked.
Coffee—where our love story had first brewed. Despite my lingering anger, I agreed.
When he arrived wearing the sky-blue T-shirt I had gifted him, I admired how handsome he looked. Maybe it was the distance that allowed me to perceive him differently.
We went to our favorite coffee shop, ordered our drinks(well the hot drinks), and sat down. Just as we were about to break our silence that lasted since few day, a pesky mosquito buzzed around.
I watched with concern as the tiny mosquito landed on his right hand while he held his coffee cup. I pictured it like a scene from a Kollywood movie—where I would swat the mosquito, save him from a bite, and he would look at me romantically, saying, “Ah, that’s sweet.”
But in reality, as I reached out to hit the mosquito, he lifted his hand to take a sip, and I swat the coffee cup accidentely. The effect was the opposite of what I intended. Hot coffee splashed across his T-shirt, staining it entirely and causing him to shout in pain. Yes, it was damn hot, as they had just served it.
“Oh no! I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear!” I pleaded, as the surrounding crowed stared at us.
He rushed to the restroom to rinse out his T-shirt, but the stain was still visible.
“My favorite T-shirt spoiled,” he said, biting his lip in frustration.
“It wasn’t intentional!” I repeated,
“Just be quiet for sometime; it’s burning,” he said, clearly upset.
We left the coffee shop and headed home, leaving our unfinished coffees behind, along with the strains of our (my) emotional pain.
Once we reached home, I asked him the T-shirt, promising I would wash it by hand.
I carefully soaked his T-shirt in hot water, scrubbing away at the stain with hope. To my surprise, the stain began to fade.
I showed him the now—clean T-shirt, and our eyes met with surprise smiles.
Not only did the coffee stain disappear, but the tension and our earlier argument seemed to vanish as well. However, when we noticed that his Jeans had also acquired a coffee stain, I attempted to wash them with the same care.
To my dismay, the stain stubbornly refused to come out. That’s when I realized—the T-shirt was the wrinkle-free, stain-resistant fabric that made it so easy to wipe off the stain.
He added, "Men are like this T-shirt—we don’t hold onto any dirt. We let things roll off us easily. Women, on the other hand, are like these Jeans; they tend to keep a bit of the stain, holding onto things a bit longer.”
And hell, the Fight continues...
