How

Tell me—
how do you forgive someone who spits thunder in your face then expects you to dance in the rain?

Tell me—
how do you erase a memory when it keeps autographing your soul in permanent ink? 

Tell me—
how do you respond to “I’m sorry” when it arrives late, after the damage has settled in like unwelcome furniture?

How do you forget the look in their eyes when they broke you— and meant it?

Tell me, how do I let go of this quiet rage, the kind that simmers politely,
smiles in daylight, and screams behind closed ribs?

Why should I forgive?

So you can sleep better?

So I can play pretend with a heart still bruised?

Honestly, I don’t know the etiquette for emotional hit-and-runs.

But I do know this:

I need time.

Not to forgive you— but to forgive myself for letting your words sink in so deep.

Maybe— in a parallel universe, you’ll earn back the version of me
that believed in you.

But here, in this story, you lost something far rarer than my love.

You lost my silence.

You lost the soft version of me that would’ve still reached for your hand
after the storm.

It’s not me.

It’s just you.

And maybe that’s the real tragedy.

Or maybe it’s the beginning of something better.

Either way— I’ll be fine.

Eventually.

Forgiven but not forgotten

Have you lost your fucking damn mind queen Oslo.

After you storm out all of anger, hateful words and all. Now out of nowhere, you just call her and text on WhatsApp asking for forgiveness.

You expect her to forgive you that easily huh? Like that doomsday never happen 

Damn, you're so damn naïve and stupid sometimes.

You just can't accept that she will forgive you easily and take you back like before.

Don't worry, she will forgive your stupid rant, hateful words and everything but don't expect things will back to normal just like that 

Hope you're not forget those hateful words and rant you've send to my WhatsApp.

Don't worry, you're save since I didn't have any intention to show it to them.

Oh right, you're forgiven but I don't forget every single thing you've said to me 

Sorry to disappoint you, but you've lost my respect and love 

Another Doomsday

Astagfirullah…

So, the day I tiptoed around in prayers and nightmares finally knocked.

Mom and Dad—  as if life hadn’t already played its cruel tricks on them—
now had front-row seats to another episode of “what else could possibly go wrong?”

Dad, with his tired eyes and too-heavy heart, shouldn't have to deal with
the petty dramatics of a house not his own.

And Mom…
She already bore the shame of my divorce like a quiet bruise under her hijab— one she never spoke of, but I saw it in the way she blinked away questions at every wedding we attended.

Now this?

Now she has to meet her daughter-in-law's true colors— which, ironically, don’t match the pastels she wears.

Such a lovely girl, they said.

Such grace, such sweetness.

And today— she shattered plates like promises, screamed like it was a competition, threw words and objects without checking who they might hit.

Even the little guy just  watched in stunned silence— the kind of silence kids remember.

And me?

What did I do?

Nothing.

Just stood there.

Breathing.

Drowning in guilt for not shielding Mom from the fireworks disguised as marriage.

She even accused me— me—of whispering poison to Mom.

Sweetheart, if I wanted to poison her, you’d already be choking on apologies.

She blocked me on everything: Path, Facebook, Instagram— Oh no!

Whatever shall I do without her perfectly curated breakfasts and inspirational quotes?

(Spoiler: I’m fine.)

But let’s be honest.

Even if she blocked me from every pixel of her world— she can't block the truth.

Her husband is still my brother. 

No app can change blood.

Not even the premium version.

And someday, maybe when she’s scrolling through old memories,trying to filter regret, she’ll remember the way Mom looked at her with disappointment so quiet,it thundered.

Here’s the twist though— I’m not angry.

No.

I’m exhausted.

I’m done playing villain in a play I didn’t audition for.

Let her have the stage.

Let her monologue in flames.

I’ll be in the audience— clapping slowly. 

Smiling kindly.

Waiting for her to forget her lines.

Because eventually, the sweetest revenge is peace.

And I?

I’m already halfway there.