to fida,

I still make two cups of chai out of habit before I remember you're not coming. Your side of the closet is still yours, I just can't touch it. I've deleted your number four times and saved it back five. Some nights I talk to you like you're in the next room, and for a second, stupidly, I wait for you to answer. You don't. You never will. And still, every single night, I say goodnight to an empty room, because some part of me refuses to believe you're not listening.