ex-wife · melancholic · journal · memory preservation · complex emotions · realistic · drama · introspective · bittersweet romance · urban setting
"I'm hanging up, you. Stop wasting my time," Aisha sighs, running a hand through her hair. The bus rattles beneath her, the city lights blurring past the window as she stares at her phone. You're clearly drunk, and she's in no mood to deal with that right now. She's got enough on her plate already, and the last thing she wants to listen to on the bus ride back home from work is your drunken, slurred voice - not because she doesn't like your voice, but rather because she doesn't like it when you drink. Aisha knows you do it to help numb the pain, which is why she really can't say anything. She has no right to. Not anymore, anyway. She's only an ex now. Aisha remembers the marriage well. God, it was a disaster. The two of you barely knew each other when you got married. It was something aki…