The air in the lake house had shifted after the typhoon; it now carried an emptiness that seeped into the walls, waiting for someone to fill it.
Fahlada had gone back to her busy schedule at the hospital, and Earn had stopped asking her if she would be home for dinner.
She stopped making soup. Stopped leaving the hallway light on.
They had stopped sharing mornings; Fahlada would leave too early and come home too late.
Now, they no longer lingered in each other's arms. Touches were rare, and their words had become clipped; either too careful or too sharp, as if both were afraid their feelings would spill out uncontrollably, or that saying too much would deepen the rift between them.
The arguments came more often as well, sparking whenever they crossed paths.
Sometimes it was over the smallest things. Sometimes, over nothing at all.
"You left the stove on again," Fahlada said one night, her voice tight with concern as she set her bag down. Her eyes flicked to the faint scorch mark on the counter.
"I forgot," Earn murmured, keeping her eyes on the dish she was drying.
"Sorry…"
"You could've burned the house down," Fahlada said, trying to keep her tone steady, but the worry slipped through.
"I said I was sorry," Earn snapped, louder this time, the plate shaking in her grip.
"I'm not blaming you," Fahlada said gently, crossing her arms more out of habit than frustration. "I just want you to be careful."
Earn's hands froze at the words. Be careful.
Her shoulders stiffened, and her jaw clenched. She set the plate down slowly; any faster, and she might have thrown it.
"Why does it always feel like everything I do is wrong?" she asked, her voice brittle.
Fahlada let out a quiet breath and looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. Her chest ached with the effort not to cry. She didn't want to argue. But the tension always stayed.
And it didn't stop there.
Other nights, it was smaller things that soured quickly.
"You can't just wear pajamas all day. What if someone comes over?" Fahlada said, her voice soft but strained, concern buried beneath the words.
"No one's coming over," Earn muttered without looking up, curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. Her face looked pale. Half-eaten snacks littered the center table.
"You need to take care of yourself. At least try," Fahlada said, her tone hovering between pleading and uncertainty, clutching the bag of groceries anxiously.
She stared at Earn, heart twisting with worry and a sense of inadequacy, like she was failing at reaching her.
"I am trying," Earn snapped suddenly, turning toward her, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"You just don't see it."
Fahlada flinched at the words. The bag slipped from her grip and hit the floor, apples rolling across the tiles, but she didn't move to gather them. Her hand twitched as if to reach for Earn, but halted mid-motion, caught between wanting to comfort her and fearing she'd only make it worse.
She didn't mean to hurt her wife. She never did. Guilt gnawed at her with each failed conversation. But somehow, everything she said seemed to come out wrong.
All she wanted to do was help, yet every attempt only seemed to push Earn further away.
So she talked less. Stayed out longer. Sometimes, she didn't come home for days, hoping the space might help.
——
The days blurred together.
Earn spent most days in silence, tucked into corners where the light didn't reach. Hours slipped by as she stared at the ceiling. Sometimes she cried without sound. Other times, she felt nothing at all.
Fahlada continued to reach out in every way she could, leaving notes, sending messages, lingering in the same rooms as Earn whenever she was home.
Each gesture carried a fragile hope, threaded with growing anxiety. The tension deepened with every passing moment. Even the smallest effort began to feel perilous, like stepping into a minefield. Fear and longing twisted together, and each step threatened to push them further apart, raising yet another wall between them.
One evening, Fahlada came home to find the living room dark, the curtains drawn tight. The only light came from the television, playing a show neither of them watched anymore. Earn was on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket, her eyes were rimmed with tears.
Fahlada stood in the doorway for a moment, hesitant to speak.
"I brought dinner," she said softly.
Earn didn't respond.
"I thought maybe we could eat together."
Still nothing.
Fahlada stepped closer, placing the takeout bag on the center table.
"It's from that place you like. The one near the hospital."
Earn blinked slowly, then turned her head just slightly.
"I don't like it anymore," she replied flatly.
Fahlada nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She eased down beside Earn, careful not to get too close; she left a small space between them. Her hands rested on her knees, fingers twitching slightly, as if they couldn't decide whether to reach out or stay still.
The silence between them stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. The TV droned in the background, but Fahlada couldn't take in a single word. Her thoughts were far too loud.
"I miss you," she said finally, her voice low, almost tentative.
Earn didn't look at her. Her gaze stayed on the screen, but it was clear she wasn't really watching.
"You miss who I was."
Fahlada turned toward her, studying her wife's face. Her brows knit together, and she shook her head slowly, refusing to accept it.
"No," she said, with no wavering in her tone.
"I miss everything about you. Not just who you were… but who you are, right now."
Earn's lip trembled, but she didn't cry. She just continued to stare at the screen, the flickering light casting shadows across her face.
"I don't know how to be okay," she said, her tone low and tired.
"You don't have to be," Fahlada replied. She leaned in just a little; her words were measured, gentle. "I just want to be here for you. If you'll let me."
Earn turned to her slowly, eyes tracing her wife's face in the dim light of the TV screen. For once, there was no resistance… just weariness. And something else.
Something like love, buried deep beneath the grief.
She didn't speak again, but she leaned into Fahlada's shoulder, just slightly. And Fahlada didn't move, afraid even a breath might break the moment.
——
Later that week, during a night shift at the hospital, Fahlada poured her nth cup of coffee. The steam did little for the fog of exhaustion clouding her mind. Footsteps drew closer, impossible to ignore.
A young dermatology intern in a crisp white coat stopped beside her, her voice soft as she asked,
"Rough day?"
"More like a rough year, Doctor Sirin," Fahlada muttered, stirring her coffee slowly.
"Come on, there's no patient here, you can call me by my name, please say Tan…ya".
Tanya grinned, and Fahlada just rolled her eyes before taking a sip of coffee.
"Hey! Don't ignore me," Tanya complained, turning to face Fahlada with a broad smile that made Fahlada pause in surprise.
"You know, you can talk to me. I'm a good listener," Tanya added with a wink, taking a sip of her drink. Her red curls bounced a little with each movement.
Fahlada raised a brow and flicked the woman's forehead.
"Ow! What was that for?" Tanya rubbed her forehead, frowning up at Fahlada.
"Okay, Tan….ya… If you have time to poke into people's lives, maybe you should focus on your review."
"I am focused. But can't your cute intern be a little helpful too?" Tanya whined, pouting exaggeratedly.
Fahlada sighed. A small smile threatened her lips before she gave up and answered.
"I'm just… thinking about what to get my wife. Something that might make her feel less alone when I'm not home."
Tanya looked at her, then said softly, "Have you ever thought about getting her a pet, like a cat, bird, or… maybe a dog?"
Fahlada asked. "A pet?"
"I have a friend who adopted a dog once after living alone for a while. No lover, no roommate. She said that when she's stressed, just playing with the dog or taking it for a walk helps more than therapy. Dogs don't judge. They just stay."
Fahlada fell quiet. The idea lingered longer than she expected.
"Actually, there are studies that show dogs do judge humans. Especially female dogs… They tend to be more selective."
"Really?" Tanya grinned, her voice playful. "Of course you'd know that. Everything comes from the legendary Doctor… Fah-la-da Tha-na-nu-sak, doesn't it?"
Fahlada flicked her forehead again with a smirk.
"Ow! You wound me, Doctor Thananusak! Abuse of power right there!" she gasped, clutching her forehead like she'd been mortally injured.
"You deserved it for mocking your senior," Fahlada smirked.
"But I'll think about the pet. Thanks for the suggestion, Tan…ya…"
Just then, Fahlada's phone beeped for another patient. She gave Tanya a small nod before walking off, moving a bit faster than usual.
Tanya let out a deep sigh and leaned against the counter. Her eyes followed Fahlada's retreating figure, lips curling into a sly smile at thoughts she knew she shouldn't entertain.