A Spring Morning - By Kalhari Kaluarachchi

Written By: Kalhari Kaluarachchi

Category: Short story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Kalhari Kaluarachchi presents "A Spring Morning," a poignant short story entry in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. The narrative unfolds on a tranquil spring morning, exploring themes of vulnerability, introspection, and self-preservation within a familiar domestic setting. Through delicate storytelling, Kalhari invites readers to contemplate the nuanced emotions and subtle shifts that occur in the quiet moments of daily life.

About the Work

"A Spring Morning" by Kalhari Kaluarachchi delves into the emotional intricacies of a long-term relationship. The story is imbued with a sense of quiet contemplation, capturing the delicate balance between hope and resignation. Through vivid imagery and introspective dialogue, it explores the challenges of communication and the pursuit of emotional well-being. Kalhari's narrative style invites readers to experience the protagonist's internal conflict and the subtle dynamics at play.

A Spring Morning

Original Submission by Kalhari Kaluarachchi

A Spring Morning - Between Silence

It was a holiday, and the bed felt like a warm cocoon. I lingered longer than usual, snoozing the alarm until it gave up. No plans, no urgency, just the soft hum of morning light filtering through the wide glass window. Spring had arrived, but the air still held a chill. Outside, flowers bloomed like quiet witnesses to my thoughts.

My husband was already up. “Good morning!!” I said, and he replied with the usual “Morning!!” That was our rhythm—simple, steady.

I didn’t reach for my phone. No scrolling, no noise. Just the stillness of a day that asked nothing of me. I thought of making coffee, a small gesture of love, something warm for him to hold.

Then he said it: “I thought of seeing a psychologist.”

I turned. Not out of surprise, but because something shifted. And before I could filter it, I said, “Finally... you accepted mind also needs attention similar to your body.” It slipped out, unguarded. Later, I wondered if it was too much, instead of encouragement for his acceptance.

To soften the moment, I offered, “Yes, I can give a contact if you like.”

“Send me, I will take a look,” he said.

I reached for my phone, not to escape, but to connect. I sent the number. A small act, but it felt like the beginning of something.

And yet, that morning, when he said he wanted to see a psychologist, something stirred in me. Not hope exactly, hope had long since packed its bags, but a flicker of recognition. Maybe even compassion. I knew how hard it was for him to say that. Vulnerability was never his language. He spoke in actions, in silences, in avoidance. But this, this was different.

I didn’t know what it meant. Was it guilt? Or just another moment that would pass like all the others? Still, I sent him the contact. Not because I believed things would change, but because I wanted to honour the part of me that still cared. The part that hadn’t hardened completely.

As I watched him scroll through the numbers, I felt the familiar ache. The ache of loving someone who doesn’t know how to love you back. The ache of not being romantic in a relationship that forgot what romance was. We were two extremes, yes. But for a brief second, we met in the middle, on a quiet spring morning, and thought of meeting a psychologist.

He knows exactly which strings to pull. Guilt is his instrument, and he plays it with precision. That morning, I sensed it again, that subtle manipulation wrapped in concern. Maybe he wanted to see if I’d soften, if I’d lean in again. But I’ve learned to read between the lines. I overthink, yes. I dissect every gesture, every pause, every shift in tone. It’s exhausting, living in a constant state of emotional analysis. But it’s also my shield. When love becomes a puzzle, you start looking for patterns instead of warmth. And I’ve seen this one before.

I walk out of the room, to the kettle, while wondering if I had just reopened a door I’d worked so hard to close. My inner self whispered, “Go back. Try to fix him.” But another voice, quieter, steadier, said, “Protect yourself.” ‘You have done enough. Never trust a person who never accepts fault.”

I’ve lived through fifteen years of emotional drought, where affection was rationed and love was conditional. I’ve watched him perform concern like a role he never rehearsed. And now, this sudden act is another trap. Or it could be another act in a play I’ve memorised by heart.

I’m still healing. Some wounds have scabbed over, others still sting when touched. I don’t know if I have the strength to risk reopening them. I want to believe people can change. But I’ve learned that he has no interest in me.

So I sit in the silence. I let the coffee go cold. And I ask myself not what he needs—but what I need. Maybe, for once, that’s the question that matters most. Matters my well-being.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, brings together writers and poets from around the world to celebrate the art of storytelling. This esteemed competition provides a platform for creative expression, fostering a community of diverse voices and perspectives. It is a celebration of literary talent and the power of words to connect and inspire.

We extend our gratitude to Kalhari Kaluarachchi for sharing "A Spring Morning" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her thoughtful exploration of relationships and self-discovery resonates deeply, offering a window into the complexities of human emotions. Thank you, Kalhari, for your contribution to this literary journey.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.