My Cruel Love.
A single cup of coffee.
A silence too loud to ignore.
Maya isn't a wife anymore - just a shadow in a house filled with memories.
But with every sunrise, she rises too - stronger, colder, harder to break.
Arman keeps his distance. But behind his silence - what is he really hiding?
🌅 A Quiet Morning
The first light of dawn crept across the mansion's white marble floors, casting long golden shadows. Outside, the garden shimmered with dew, the grass catching sunlight like thousands of tiny diamonds. Birds fluttered between the trees, filling the stillness with a symphony of life.
Maya stood alone on the balcony, her arms folded loosely, her eyes scanning the horizon as if it might offer answers.
"Even the sky looks freer than I feel," she thought.
Yet here she was, trapped in a house that once promised her forever and now barely acknowledged her existence.
The sky moved. She couldn't.
Sleep had abandoned her again. Her dreams - what little she remembered - left her more tired than when she closed her eyes. So she rose, washed her face, and wandered into the quiet kitchen.
The house was asleep. The silence felt almost sacred.
But for Maya, silence had never felt holy - only hollow.
Still, she embraced it. Silence didn't judge. People did.
She began preparing breakfast with the kind of precision born from habit, not peace. The sizzle of oil in the pan was the only sound - until soft footsteps padded behind her.
Anzuma : "Oh Maya , you're up so early? What are you doing here,?
Maya (smiling gently): "Just thought I'd help with breakfast, Aunt Anzuma."
Anzuma : "Sweetheart, we have a chef for that. You don't need to trouble yourself."
Before Maya could respond, Ruby entered the kitchen, already in work mode.
Ruby: "Maya, He usually takes his coffee now. He's in the gym. His room needs cleaning afterward."
Maya: "Okay, sister. Which way to the gym?"
Ruby: "It's attached to his bedroom."
Maya gave a soft nod, avoiding emotion. But Anzuma Begum watched her with tender eyes - eyes that saw the quiet ache behind the smile.
☕ The Uncomfortable Encounter
After serving tea to her uncles and Aunt Anzuma, Maya carried a cup of black coffee upstairs. She knocked on Arman's door. No answer.
"He must be in the gym," she told herself.
Without hesitation, she turned the knob and stepped inside.
The room was large, minimalist, almost sterile in its perfection. Everything was white - curtains, linens, even the artwork on the walls. Cold, polished, and distant. Just like him.
So spotless. So lifeless. Just like his heart, she thought bitterly.
It was the kind of room you couldn't cry in - too clean for tears, too white for warmth. She hated how it still smelled faintly like him.
She moved toward the balcony to set the coffee down, but a sharp voice broke the silence.
"What are you doing in my room?" Arman's voice cut through the quiet.
He emerged from the gym, shirtless, a towel casually slung over his neck. His skin glistened with sweat, and his breath was still a bit heavy.
Maya froze, startled.
"I. I knocked. You didn't answer. I brought your coffee," she said quietly, looking away quickly.
Arman smirked cruelly. "Acting like you've never seen me like this before?"
She didn't answer. Didn't even flinch. She just stood there, her back to him, heart pounding with shame - not from modesty, but from feeling like nothing in front of someone who once promised forever.
Flashbacks hit her like a wave:
Her father collapsing.
The hospital demanding payment before treatment.
Desperate phone calls.
The club.
And finally - his betrayal.
She blinked hard, fighting back tears. One slipped free anyway, but she wiped it away before he could see.
Don't cry. Not now. Not in front of him. You've cried enough for this man.
Never again.
He broke you once. You won't let him see the pieces.
Her hands trembled slightly as she held out the cup.
"Your coffee. it's getting cold."
For the first time in years, Arman actually looked at her. Really looked.
Something flickered in his eyes - curiosity? regret? He blinked it away, like brushing off dust.
She wasn't the girl he married. Her eyes had lost their innocence. But there was something else too - something unbreakable.
And that unsettled him.
So, like always, he retreated into anger.
Because anger was easier than guilt.
And Arman was a man who never stayed long in feelings that made him feel small.
"It's already cold. Make another," he said curtly.
Maya nodded, turned, and left - this time with relief in her steps.
🔁 The Second Cup
Back in the kitchen, she stood quietly, waiting for the kettle to boil.
"He hates lukewarm coffee. But he gave me the coldest goodbye."
And somehow, that irony burned more than any hot cup ever could.
This time, she didn't let her hands shake. She remade the coffee in silence, movements steady and calm.
She returned to his room again. No answer to her knock. She entered carefully - he was in the shower now. Steam clouded the bathroom door.
She placed the cup on the bedside table, took one last glance around, and left.
He'd probably drink it without noticing.
Or maybe he'd stare at it like he did with her - confused why it tasted different.
"If it gets cold again, that's his problem."
"I've served enough warmth for one lifetime."
To be continued…