The dimness of the room was perfect for them both. That was how she loved it; the gentle light covered up the years that had become ingrained in her skin and the weariness in her eyes. He never asked for more light. Every Tuesday, he would drop by, say nothing, and leave a wad of money on the dresser.
Tonight was no different. From the bathroom, she could hear him, the sound of water splashing over his hands. It wasn’t the first time he washed them as soon as he arrived. Maybe it was a sense of guilt. Maybe shame. She never enquired.
She sat on the edge of the bed, the mild smell of cheap soap in the air. He stepped into the room, silent as always. Without words, they moved, like they did every day. He was hesitant, a bit shy, yet she let him draw her closer. The sheets crinkled under their weight, and for a moment, it was like they were both trying to forget the world outside.
But then, something unexpected happened.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice strange, unfamiliar. It was a break in the routine, a question that wasn’t supposed to be asked. His words felt like a breach in the fragile silence they’d kept so carefully.
Surprised, she blinked. No one asks that anymore. Names are a luxury, a line that blurs reality.
A pause hung between them. She stared at him, unsure of how to answer. She could lie. She often did. But somehow, the truth—the truth that felt like a lie—slipped out instead.
“Rita,” she said, though it wasn’t the name her mother had given her. But it was the one she wore here, the one men could call when they needed to call her.
He nodded, but there was something different in his expression, a shift between them, something negligible but undeniable. His hand lingered on her arm for a beat too long, as though he was searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or understanding. In the silence, she could hear his breath, slow and heavy, the sound of someone teetering on the edge of something.
Then, he spoke again. “I don’t think I can come back next week.”
She gave a smile, empty and cold. “They all say that.”
He faltered. His voice broke slightly as he spoke again, this time with more hesitation. “No, I mean it… I think I’m done.”
His words hung in the air between them, unexpected, fragile. For the first time, she felt a faint sting—loss, maybe, or something else. It gnawed at the numbness she had grown so used to, but this time, the familiar apathy didn’t rush back in to save her.
She waited for it, the comforting shield of indifference, but it never came.
As usual, he placed the money on the dresser, but something about it felt different now. The routine that once seemed so predictable had been shaken, leaving a distance between them that felt too wide to cross.
She watched him leave, her mind lingering on the quiet confession he had made. There was a new silence between them, one that weighed heavier than before. For a moment, she wondered if she should say something—reach out, break the silence one more time.
But she didn’t. Instead, she remained still, staring at the door long after it had closed, waiting for the numbness to return.
Image by Loyloy Thal from Pixabay – wad of money on a wooden top.
literally stories 
Rehanul
Perfectly done. The numbness and the acceptance of such a horrible situation are brilliantly displayed. The almost human moment quickly dissipated. Well done.
Leila
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Thanks, Leila
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This is full of intrigue. So many questions about who they are and what has led them to this moment. This could be the start of a novel.
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Certainly, I’ll think of a novel like this. Thank you
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Beautifully handled with characters that invite sympathy. A satisfying read. Thank you – dd
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Thanks, Diane
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Moments pass by when the separating gulf could have been bridged. A poignant story, very well told. Thank you.
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A vignette freighted with feeling, with every word where it should be. Superb.
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Rehanul
There is something so very current in this story. People sharing the most intimate of moments together, staring into their phones, alone. — Gerry
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Thanks, Gerry
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Hi Rehanul,
I really like this!!
She was feeling loss which was very interesting – What I loved about that was that was the focus, not her missing what he did to her, no-one knows if he rung her bell or not! It was the loss that was the emphasis.
The last line was exceptional.
It is sexy, deep, meaningful and thought provoking!!!
Superb my fine friend.
Hugh
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Thanks Hugh, my friend.
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Lovely work – these characters, and their silence, will stay with me for a long time.
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Thanks.
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Estrangement so brilliantly depicted. The comforts of apathy, indifference . . . A timely piece.
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Comment from David Henson who is suffering from interweb glitches.
Excellent portrayal of two people who find in each other a brief respite from their loneliness. Sad, but there’s also a lesson to be learned — a relationship with no commitment or responsibility isn’t going to last.
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Thanks, Diane. My comment box seems to be ok just now.
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Hi Rehanul!
I think you have perfectly portrayed the harsh reality of our prevailing society that started long long ago but nobody knows when will end. Actually this Silence speaks more than words..Best wishes
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The best part of this story is the storytelling, where the silence wields the power to create either a storm or numbness in a reader’s mind.
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They say sex is just sex, but it isn’t. There’s always more going on. This episode facilitated by monetary exchange. Numbness one of the many side effects. I wonder why he was “done.” Was she too old now? He, or she, could be ghosts, in a sense, in that dim room.
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Ethereal, wistful, and somewhat mystical is how I felt about reading this piece. It’s, to me, a great example of prose-poetry done really well.
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