Stuck in a Storm

The sun shone brightly. The sky was finally clear after a week of continuous rain.

My husband and I had resolved a week-long fight with lots of hugs and kisses yesterday. We decided to go on a walk to gift ourselves for having resolved conflicts like adults.

But we had not really talked it out, just convinced each other that a fight that lasted for so long wasn't healthy for a relationship.

The sparks of fire were still hot in both of us. A slight breeze, and it would be set ablaze.

It was an unsaid promise to not open up talks about the fight until there was an utter necessity. And the utter need happens when new quarrel rouses and we run out of valid points to blame each other for a depressing relationship.

He had woken me up with a cup of tea, beaming from eye to eye, like all that mattered was the kisses of last night and not the fights from the previous days.

I played along as well. I prepared his favourite pancakes for breakfast.

A partner's precautious words and actions after a fight are awkward until you realise you are behaving artificially too.

There would be extra "honey" at the end of every sentence. An extra second of eye contact accompanied by a smile, as if we were mutually appreciating each other for holding on for so long.

We were trying to be very careful, to not break the jar that was broken numerous times before and was made to stay together with a weak glue. Every time we pass by it, we hold our breath.

The truth was that the breath can only be held for a little while before we grow tired of being careful, and the jar would easily be broken again.

As we kept walking and turned around the corner, I saw a garbage can toppled on the pavement.

I saw it first, and my hands automatically went towards it to set it right. Memories from the previous week flashed, and my hands stopped midway.

I had offered to help the porter we had hired to carry a piece of our luggage because he seemed to be struggling.

My husband had at once turned to me and hissed between his clenched teeth, "learn to behave with some decency. He is paid to do his job. Give it back to him".

I was appalled, but I hadn't given in. I had carried it to the car. He was shocked to see me disobey, and the storm had begun that day.

I turned around to see his eyes reflect a mixture of emotions.

Disbelief, embarrassment, disgust and rage.

I hated the look on his face.

My hands shrank back, and I continued to walk, leaving the garbage can there.

He resumed walking behind me. I didn't have to turn behind to know that he would be glaring at me.

We reached home in silence.

The thought about the unturned garbage can kept bothering me, and I didn't want to play along forever.