Benar Salah, Hanyalah Salah

The silence after a fight always sounds louder than the fight itself. It's as if the walls are still arguing, and the air is quietly asking, "Is that all?" "It's that simple?" - and gets no answer. Here, words don't shout, they settle like dust on an old piano. His voice is tired but honest, he's letting go not because he wants to, but because he can't hold on any longer. There's a strange nobility in that sound of defeat: a step aside to make it easier for someone else to breathe. No offence, no fancy words - just a warm "I hope you feel better." And somewhere in this humility lies the quietest form of love - the one that doesn't require being together to still exist.