Brittle Unsaid Nothings

By Tejas Yadav

1. Sense of Self

“What’s the matter?”

Juan pretended to check his texts, once more.

“Oh come now,” Mirella said. “Go on, what’s happened?”

“I said nothing,” came back the terse reply. Juan turned off his phone, plonked it on the bed and left the common room. A moment later, he returned. Mirella had not stopped reading her book on the sofa.

“Yes?”

“Well, if you must know, Zaira cancelled our Zoom call.”

“Again?”

“Yep.”

“I’m sorry but you know, maybe she’s busy,” said Mirella, carefully folding her page into a dog-ear.

“Maybe. Fourth time in a row. It’s not like we talk that often anyway.” Juan sat loudly on the other end of the sofa.

Snow had started falling outside the living room window. Saturday felt like prison.

“We can watch a movie if you like?” Mirella offered.

“Why do I even care? It’s been months since she hasn’t called me.”

“I know, it’s always you trying to be the good friend Juan. Sometimes, you just have to let people be.”

“Easier said than done,” he grumbled.

“Ok, so we can't go out cause it’s snowing. And now your Zoom date is canceled. So what? Cheer up, let’s watch a tv show? Or a movie?”

“Sorry Mirella, I don’t know why this stuff bothers me so much. I guess I’m over sensitive. I don’t have too many friends and I value the relations I do have, you know?”

“You’re a good friend. And you hurt easy.”

“It’s all that guy’s fault. The one she’s been dating.”

“Paulo?”

“Him. It’s like she’s lost all sense of herself, her life, her friends ever since she met him. Zaira would never cancel on me before.”

“Sounds like someone is jealous,” Mirella winked.

“Oh please. That’s the most obvious and inaccurate conclusion. I don’t want to compete with her lover boy. I just, I don’t know, I want my friend back.”

Juan looked out into the grey light outside, diaphanous and dreamlike. The sky looked oppressive and mirthless.

Mirella moved closer to Juan, slid her fingers through his, lay her head on his shoulder. He didn’t resist but she could feel his disappointment tensed up like a knotted cord twisting his muscles.

“I’m here,” she said. The snow began to drift in flurries.

1. Perfect Influence

The man walked out of the sea, grinning for no reason other than the sheer joy of feeling the sun on his skin and the eyes of the world on his body. Those hours in the gym paid off, he knew they would. He ambled up the sand and lay down next to the girl. She, in turn, had a huge hat on with shades, under a beach umbrella. Book in hand, she barely lifted her head to kiss him.

“The water’s amazing. Sure you don’t want to come in for a bit babe?”

“Nah, I’m good here. You had a good swim, huh?” said Zaira. Sitting up straight, she traced her finger along his abs. He looked like Achilles, swam out of the Aegean and dropped on her beach towel.

“Mhmmmm.”

She sighed. “Oh Paulo, I never tire of looking at you swimming.”

His perfect teeth shone in the sunlight. “You and some others. I definitely caught those girls there looking over.”

Zaira squinted over to a bunch of teenagers playing volleyball by the ice-cream stand on the beach. Jealousy never occurred to her, she basked in the desire that others barely concealed for her own conquest. Her man was the sexiest thing on two legs. Sure he knew it, but that only made him more attractive in her eyes.

“I don’t blame them, you are such a hottie,” she giggled. Then caught herself giggling. She never used to giggle before. This holiday in the Indian Ocean was bringing out a whole new side in her.

“I am, I am. My last beach pic got 100 likes in less than a minute. Believe that babe?”

“Of course, I do! I took that one,” she almost giggled. The tide was coming in, she could see the lifeguards in the distance changing the safety flag to orange.

“Time for me to go do some ab crunches. You okay here by yourself for a bit?” asked Paulo.

Zaira nodded, watching him head over to the outdoor exercise area on the beach.

She reopened her book, absentmindedly flipping the pages, until she saw some handwritten notes on the inner jacket. One read: “Tolstoy says everything is love, everything.” It was Juan’s handwriting. A shiver of cold guilt trickled down her spine. She’d canceled on her best friend for Paulo. “Paulo isn’t feeling too well, sorry. We’ll chat another time.”

Looking around, she watched the sun turn a dark orange. They’d head back to the hotel soon. Where had Paulo gone? Juan would’ve sat with her and talked about everything and nothing. Juan who hated social media and exhibitionism and influence. How different they were, she thought. Something inside her missed her friend. If only to be able to talk to him about Paulo. A seagull came swooping over her head and she jumped. Coming out of her nostalgia, she felt silly. Juan will always be there, she’ll just catch up with him next weekend !

She slapped the book shut, tied her sarong and went looking for her greek god. Decidedly, holidays are couple-time and she was going to make it worth every single second. Friends understand that, she told herself. “Juan wants this for me too, after all.”

1. A thing of the past

Juan looked at his baggy, torn jeans, then up at the 18 year old girl staring at him, took a deep breath in and said “I’m sorry, I don’t like you that way...I mean, I really like you and we can be friends but..”

“It’s fine,” she said. Her backpack was full of books she’d checked out earlier at the university library.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure. I mean, it’s always a 50% chance of a no, right?”

“Um, okay, I guess,” said Juan. “So, we're good Zaira?”

Zaira burst out laughing. “Yes Juan. We. Are. Good. What did you think I was going to do? Throw a fit? Burst into tears? Come on, you know me better than that.”

“Well, I don’t know, I definitely didn’t expect you to get over me so quickly!”. He nudged her side and they both laughed.

“Oh don’t flatter yourself Juan. Anyway, I have to run home, Ammi is expecting me home for Ramadan.”

“Mmmm, delicious kebabs, I can smell them already!”

Zaira nudged him this time. “I haven’t eaten all day and you’re the one drooling over the iftar!”

“Bring me some tomorrow, won’t you?”

“I’ll think about it. Friend.” Zaira left him standing outside the university gates.

They met in their English Literature program, at the start of term in their first year. That was six months ago. Their love for words, their disdain towards authority and general dislike of all the rich, pretentious kids in their class had somehow cemented into a friendship. Or so Juan had thought, until today. Zaira, meanwhile, had fallen head over heels.

“What was I thinking?” she muttered to herself on the way home as evening swept a blanket of darkness over the empty streets.

Later that evening she asked her mother to save a few of the lamb skewers for her friends.

“Don’t think I don’t know what this is Zaira. It’s for that boy, isn’t it?”

“There’s no boy, Ammi.

“Oh really? And what about that Spanish boy?”

“Mexican.”

“Mexican, Spanish, same thing. I knew this was about him. You’ve been quiet all evening. This is about him , isn’t it?”

“Ammi jaan, stop, okay? What is with this interrogation? You’ve turned into one of those Aunties on your daily soaps.”

“Look Zaira, Baba and I love you and we want the best for you. And right now, that’s your education. No boys, Muslim or otherwise.”

“Great. Understood. Anything else?”

Her mother humphed and shoved a tupperware full of kebabs into her hands. “Take it from the fridge tomorrow.” Zaira broke into a smile, her first true one that day. She ran and hugged her mother.

In the international students house, back at the university, Juan at the lonely wooden desk in his small dorm room. Somewhere far away, his parents were waking up. His mother would light a candle at the altar for his abuela who’d died a year ago. His father would be preparing his leather briefcase. His brother would be sleeping in to make the most of school holidays. Pepito the dog would be barking at daybreak. Usually, it was Juan who’d take him for his walk before heading to high school.

Now, he sat watching long shadows drift over the university lawns outside the solitary window in his room. Zaira hadn’t even asked him why he didn’t want to date her. Rational, wise, funny, and so perfectly normal, his version of normal anyway. That’s why he liked being around Zaira. But he didn’t know how to feel what she wanted him to feel.

“No, she didn't want anything.”She just told him and then it was a thing of the past. She’s probably not even thinking about it.

“So why am I?” He knew the answer too well. He’d never been in love before. Was that why he couldn’t find the language to express what he felt for her? Experience? How does one even get that, he wondered.

For an hour before dinner, he tried to focus on his essay about Virginia Woolf and the Modernists. But his mind kept wandering. He tried to see if his brother had woken up and decided to log on to the video calling program. International phone calls were expensive so they tried to catch each other online, that way they could see each other too. He flipped open his laptop. A bright red dot showed up next to “Pedro hermanito” : offline.

In the communal kitchen he ran into some of his housemates. The Indian girl smiled at him when he sat down at the wooden dining table.

“Pasta again?” said Mirella

Juan smiled back. “Every day. Unless you make me one of your curries!”

Mirella admired his easy charm. People always wanted to talk to Juan. “One day maybe. First, I want my tacos. And they better be vegetarian!”

“Don’t hold your breath then,” Juan shot back.

Zaira must be breaking her fast now, his mind floated back to the kebabs.

“How’s English Lit?”

“Huh?”

Mirella came and sat in the empty chair next to him. “How”s your course? You know, the undergraduate degree that we’re paying a fortune for?”

“Oh, the one that wanted us to pay five times more than local kids?”

“The very one,” laughed Mirella. “The one that made us ask for a visa, pay a bomb for it too and leave our families for.”

“Now, now, don’t be so, what’s the world, ungrateful. Aren’t you supposed to be the model immigrant?” said Juan.

Mirella snorted into her soup. “Of course, all Asians are the same. All!.” They both laughed, rolling their eyes.

1. Newness

“Welcome back. Good trip?”

“Oh Juan, it was the best! The sea, the sunsets, the beaches, the food, everything!”

“And Paulo?”

“Paulo, too, of course! He’s such a romantic. I’d never have guessed. And I could walk around without my scarf! No one cared, no one knew me. It was so...freeing. You’d have loved it ! I wish you were with us.”

“Do you, really?” Juan looked up from his book. He caught Zaira grappling with her words, mid-sentence.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. The time difference and Paulo wanted to be outside all the time, you know?”

“It’s alright,” he sighed. “I’m glad you guys had fun. You seem really...happy Zaira.”

“I am, I really am.” She remembered feeling wistful on the beach by herself, missing Juan. She almost said something but people were looking over at them in the library with treacherous eyes.

The final year exams were looming dangerously close, now that the holidays were behind them.

When they’d finished their study session, Zaira walked back to the dorms with Juan. It was a crisp winter morning and the snow still lay heavy on the grounds.

“Tell me, what did you guys get up to here?”

“Which guys?”

“You and Mirella, duh”.

He didn’t like the gentle insouciance in her voice. Was she always this ignorant of others feelings?

“Not much on my end. Mirella, well, ask her I guess.”

“Juan, come on. Don’t pretend like there’s nothing there..”

He let out a loud chuckle. “Are you even my friend? Zaira, I don’t like Mirella.”

She looked surprised. “Fine, no need to be mean about it. I just see you both hanging out a lot lately. What was I to make of it? And anyway, friends can’t know everything, you know?”

“I know,” Juan said.

There was a birthday party in the common area when they got back to the dorm. A first year student from Iran was celebrating with her mates. Mirella waved them over from amidst the ruckus.

“Hey, you’re back!”

“And with a tan,” flaunted Zaira.

Juan left the girls to catch up. He went over to the side tables to grab a cake. Last night he had the same dream again. Empty field, mist, him, and a figure. The figure kissed him and he woke up. He scanned the room, who was it?

Someone tapped his right shoulder, making him look to the right. Zaira laughed from behind his left side.

“Very funny.”

“Well, you looked,” she said, poking his sides. “Anyway I have to go.”

“Yes, yes. Paulo.”

“No, Ammi. She’s not stopped asking me about my “ten-day study trip to Oxford”. If I stay out late, the questions will only increase.”

‘I still can’t believe you flew across the globe and didn’t tell them.”

“Hey hey mister, I’m a grown up. And in any case, didn’t you tell me to live a little. Who’s the morose one now?”

Juan let up. “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to do things they force you to. Now run, otherwise I’ll never get Noor Aunty's handmade food ever again.”

“Haha, she’s on to you by the way.”

“At least someone is.”

Zaira cocked her head funnily, shook it, hugged him and ran out with her coat.

Mirella found him later, sitting pensive on the common couch when others had started clearing up.

“So you told her?”

He hung his head like a chastised puppy. “There’s nothing to be said. Plus, we’re just friends. And she’s happy, happier than I’ve seen her in these last 3 years.”

Mirella bit her lip. The silence made Juan shift.

‘You’re a good friend,” she said quietly.

“Then why do I feel bad?”

“Because friends can hurt each other too, I guess.” Mirella wanted to say so much more. Instead, she said, “Come on, let’s go watch a Bollywood movie. That’ll cheer you up.”

Juan resisted, saying he had to call his family and study for the final, but he finally relented. “Just half an hour,” he said as Mirella danced her way out of the kitchen.

In bed that night, Juan stayed awake a long time. His mind wandered back to all the friends he’d left back in Mexico, his family. Zaira had been the first meaningful friendship he’d made abroad. People were drawn to him easily, but he chose his friends carefully. He didn’t like most of them, he definitely hated Paulo.

When the dream came again, he woke up with a start. He’d seen the face. It wasn’t who he expected. It wasn’t Zaira after all.

It was Mirella. Was Zaira right then? He went back to sleep, brushing away the dream as nonsense.

As weeks passed, Zaira and Juan saw each other on fewer and fewer occasions. Examinations, family pressure, new boyfriend, job applications for after university. Weeks turned into a month. They smiled when they crossed each other in the library but otherwise they had little opportunity to run into one another. Courses had stopped and the final essay and study leave meant they were not required to be on campus.

Spring came and went. On the day before their last paper, Zaira found Juan and Mirella outside the library.

“Hey you guys!”

“Zaira, it’s been ages,” said Mirella.

Juan didn’t break a smile. Something inside him felt alive and bruised.

“I know, it’s been so frantic these last few weeks. Anyway I have big news..”

“You’ve got a job, haven’t you? Miss Smarty Pants, first in class to get recruited.” Juan tried to soften the edge in his voice when he spoke.

“No, no. Bigger news. I’m getting married! Paulo proposed!”

Luckily Mirella’s presence of mind saved them from the awkwardness. “Congratulations”, she said in a haste. “That’s, that’s wonderful!”

“Your parents?” asked Juan bluntly.

“Oh they’ll come around. I guess. Anyway, you’re both invited to the ceremony once we figure out when, where, the details.”

Juan nodded feebly, checked his disappointment, and leaned in to give his friend a hug. “Congratulations Zaira.”

The week after the exams, Juan booked tickets to travel around Europe for a month. Alone. He missed the wedding but he left a gift for the couple with Mirella.

1. Strangers

“I don’t know what to say, Mirella,” said Juan. He hesitated to say what he really felt.

“Oh come on, it will be fun. Plus, you guys haven’t seen each other in ages.

“In two years,” he said softly.

“You see? Just be civil.”

“I’m always civil!”

“Yes yes, I know. But it’s not been easy. Her mother is still not talking to her, Juan”. Mirella looked at the clock. “Ok, I have to run. I can’t believe I’m going to my Masters graduation ceremony and you’re not here to celebrate with me!”

“We’ll celebrate when you’re here. Berlin has some great bars!”

“Can’t wait. And don’t forget to find some halal spots for Zaira!”

“I thought she’d have given up on that too, seeing…”

“Juan! Be nice to her when we visit. I’m seeing her later tonight. Ok, love you.”

“Congrats Mi, I’m proud of you!”

Juan went back to preparing his Spanish lessons for the students in his evening class. During his Europe trip, he came to the Institut Cervantes in Berlin. They had a job opening and he could continue to do his Masters in Literature in Germany. He’d returned hurriedly, collected his undergraduate degree, said goodbye to Mirella and found a flat in Berlin.

A month after he began his new life, a letter arrived with a thank you note and a wedding photo.

“We missed you at the wedding. Best wishes for your new job! Let’s keep in touch. Zaira and Paulo.”

Once again, she did not ask him any further questions. After nearly three years of spending every day together, he’d become a stranger to her. A stranger, Juan concluded, she got let off easily. It was probably for the best.

Until today, when Mirella (who he’d corresponded with regularly), said that Zaira had gotten in touch and when she heard that Mirella was planning a visit to Berlin she’d expressed a desire to come along and see Berlin, and of course, Juan.

In the last two years, Juan had started learning German, finished half of his part-time Masters course online and somehow managed to field all questions from his mother back home about marriage and romance. Now suddenly, his throat felt dry. He really didn’t want to see anyone. Mirella, fine, perhaps her. But the rest of it, he’d moved on.

The recurring dream had stopped too. He had no time for daydreaming. He plunged himself into work, made some new friends at the language school and tried to plan a move back to his own University back in Mexico. He’d been away far too long.

“Once I finish this masters, I’m going back,” he told himself on cold, rainy grey days when everything felt alien to him, as if the world was foreign to him and not the other way round.

There was another reason he didn’t want to see Zaira. Sven. His German roommate. Ex roommate.

“A boy kissed me Zaira, I was confused. Then we fought and he left. I still think of him. And I still think about you. It’s all your fault and nothing makes sense.”

How was he supposed to explain that? He had only told Mirella during their weekly video calls and she’d said it was okay to be confused. That had been two months ago. And now, the girl he had loved as a friend once decided to show up.

Well, there probably would be no need to bring it up on such a short visit. Zaira hadn’t felt the need to reach out to him in years, so why should he expect things to be the way they once were. No, if anything, Juan decided, they were friendly acquaintances. He exhaled and went on with his evening sessions as if nothing could faze him, smile intact, anxiety inside, dead spirit brimming in his eyes.

Thousands of miles away, Zaira hugged Mirella at the after party.

“What’s next?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe a PhD,” said Mirella, beaming with joy. Her parents had flown over from India for the occasion.

“PhD? Is that for them or for you?” asked Zaira sympathetically.

“Well, a bit of both. You know, the things we do for Asian parents.”

Zaira looked down, clearing her throat.

Mirella cursed under her breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean..”

“It’s okay. You’re right, Mi. I’m so happy your parents could come, really I am.”

Mi knew she’d overstepped. Zaira had not spoken to her mother since the wedding with Paulo.

“Hey, look, when we visit Juan, you have to tell him everything. No, don't give me those big eyes! I’m stuck between you two: him with his silence, you making me promise not to say anything. I’m glad you agreed to come along on the trip!”

“Me too, I didn’t realise how much I missed him. I fucked up, Mi. I really did.”

Paulo had vanished after the wedding. Zaira found out the day after his citizenship papers came in. She’d been a fool. Her parents said her community had no place for renegades like her. And her closest friend, well, he’d flown away without a word. Zaira had swallowed the ignominy and heartbreak alone.

She reached out to Mirella who let her stay in her dorm room for a few months. Zaira had no money to pay for a Masters so she decided to take up a job in a local grocery store in the Asian neighbourhood. She called her parents every month but they always hung up.

Tonight, Mi could see tears brimming in those big eyes. “Don’t we all, but we can fix this. Now let’s go show these firangis what a real party is.”

They ran to the DJ and asked him to put on some Bollywood beats. Zaira threw her head back and laughed. For a moment, everything felt light and happy. Near perfect, except Juan.

1. Beginnings

Mirella sat between them on the taxi from the airport to the city centre. When they got back to the apartment, Juan suggested a quick walk around the landmarks before lunch. Zaira could sense his stiffness, but then again, time changes a lot.

At a coffee shop brimming with hipsters, Mirella went to put in their order. It was the first time they’d sat across from each other in years.

“No headscarf, huh?” he joked. His easy charm resurfacing, like waking from a long dream.

“Ha! It’s gone. And not just that..”

“I know. I mean,” he fumbled, “Mirella told me about your parents.”

“Yeah.” She looked away and continued, “She didn’t tell you what’s really gone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Paulo.”

Juan had been so happy to not see the guy that he’d not even bothered to ask. He assumed the husband didn’t care to visit his wife’s old best friend.

“He had to work?”

Zaira scoffed. “Juan, he left me. Soon after the wedding, he got his papers and, well, he just left.”

Juan felt a pit like lead drop in his stomach. Guilt, confusion, questions, anger fought to fill up that pit.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Mirella say anything? Zaira, really?”

Zaira’s eyes met his. She shot him down with a straight look. “You left, too.”

Juan grimaced. “What? Is this what this is about?”

He couldn’t believe what was happening. He felt like he’d been in the dark for years and somehow that too was his fault.

“Is that why you went off social media then? Your parents? Or that fucking idiot you loved?”

“I love,” Zaira said softly.

“Oh come on,” Juan stood up. “This is madness. You can’t tell me you still care for that piece of..”

Mirella arrived with three cups of milky coffee. People had begun to stare following Juan’s outburst. Mirella looked at him, her face saying “I told you to be civil”.

Juan sat back down. “Look, I’m sorry. I guess I just felt, I don’t know. Anyway,” he said, passing the cups around the table, “ we’re here now.”

“Yes, and I have some good news,” Zaira said.

Mirella was the one surprised now. “Really? Go on then.”

But Zaira was looking at Juan with a mixture of supplication and distress: “Promise you won’t be mad. Either of you.”

Juan crossed his arms and pretended to look at a group of German guys in the distance. Mirella nodded, “Yes yes, now what is it?”

“I’ve got a book deal!”

Juan blinked in disbelief. “Zaira, that’s amazing. Look at you, first of our class to be a real novelist!”

“It’s not a novel. Well, it’s a semi-novel. It’s a book that imagines the life of Virginia Woolf.”

Juan bit his lip, forehead furrowed. He knew Zaira had read his Master’s dissertation, so he asked her to proofread it.

“Juan, you really inspired me. And Paulo too.”

Mirella butted in, “Paulo? How the hell did he inspire you?”

Zaira told them that he’d got back in touch. He was the one who’d found her address, called and apologised a million times. Zaira hadn’t let up until he told her that his friend owned a publishing house in London. Thanks to Paulo, they were ready to look at a manuscript whenever Zaira felt she was ready. Zaira had been sitting on the Virginia Woolf draft for years.

“They’ve even given me an advance. It’s not much but I can stop working at the grocery store.”

Juan wanted to accuse her of plagiarism, of betrayal, of weakness and foolishness. That jerk she loved was tricking her, again, and she was falling for it.

“Congratulations, that’s really something,” Juan said, trying to be happy for his friend. Old friend. He just wanted to be alone all of a sudden, but Mirella deserved a better host.

“I want a signed copy,” Mirella said, hugging Zaira and nearly overturning her cup. “Oops. And now that you two are talking again, can we please agree on no more secrets? Good or bad?”

Zaira and Juan nodded, fake smiles plastered.

The weekend flew past and Juan felt further and further from being able to voice his thoughts to Zaira. Finally, on the last day, before heading to the airport he asked her to go for a walk in the nearby park. Mirella had gone off to see another friend in the city.

They sat on a bench, looking at children throwing bits of bread to ducks in a pond in the centre of the park. The sun was out and it felt good to not have to wear extra layers.

“So, how’s your family? I never got around to asking. Has Pedro visited you in Berlin?”

“No, not yet.” Juan searched for a way in to bring her to where he wanted them to be.

“I see,” Zaira said.

They sat, looking at people running on the grass. Time had changed too much, they had forgotten to be who they once were. Each felt the sharp ache turning like a blade inside, the distance between two people sitting so close.

“What will you do about your Abba and Ammi?”

“What about them?” Zaira snapped. “They deserted me. Not the other way round.”

Juan felt the wall come up between them but he wanted to hurt her. It felt wrong but he was hurting and the only way out was to hurt her.

“Yes, but sooner or later you have to tell them. Sooner the better.”

“Oh please Juan. You of all people? You always said I needed to get out, live more, break the rules, and find myself.”

“I was foolish then.”

Zaira’s anger quivered on her upper lip. “Well, it’s too late. I’ve chosen my life.They’ll come around, if it’s meant to be.”

“You need a family.”

“Paulo is my family. And I have friends.”

Check and mate, she’d outdone his treachery. She wanted to tell him how his sudden departure had hurt her, how lonely she felt, afraid to even reach out to him on the darkest days. Where had he been? And now he was lecturing her about life.

Zaira let a few moments pass before she said, “Mi tells me you met someone too.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell me if you don’t want to,” Zaira quipped.

“I didn’t, I mean I did but it didn’t work out. Anyway she wasn’t supposed to say anything, I’ll kill Mirella.”

“Relax, she didn’t,” Zaira finally broke into a laugh. “It’s an old trick. You fell for it.”

Juan felt ridiculous but also irritated. He didn’t want these mind games with Zaira, Zaira that he no longer recognized. His silence would be his weapon. As always though, Zaira did not press him further. He didn’t tell her about the boy, or his dream. They hugged at the airport, awkward and uncertain. Juan and Zaira never spoke again.

By Tejas Yadav