Left On Read.

This is where the real story begins.

Rafiq and I started having some issues. I began expressing how hurt I felt by his lack of initiation, how it left me feeling unwanted. My complaints piled up, until one night, he finally responded. He told me that because of all my complaints, he had started to lose interest in me. That one line felt like a gut punch.

I still remember that night. I didn’t sleep at all. My body was in full-blown anxiety, my mind spiraling in every direction. I regretted everything. Regretted speaking up. Regretted not just letting things flow. That single statement shattered something in me.

We talked on the phone after, and he gave me some surface-level reassurance. But I could feel it in my bones; something had changed. The air between us wasn’t the same anymore.

Then came the push and pull.

This phase lasted almost a month.

I would pour my heart into long messages; raw, vulnerable, desperate. He’d respond hours later. Twelve hours. Sometimes more. I would sit there, refreshing the chat, praying for a reply, and feeling like I was slowly losing my mind. I had so much anxiety it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I would beg to speak over the phone, and each time, he’d delay it. It was like he didn’t know me anymore. Like I was a stranger. Like nothing ever existed between us.

It broke me.

Every single moment of those weeks was heavy grief. My mind played every memory, every misstep. I kept asking myself, “What did I do so wrong?” I kept wishing I could go back and fix it, say something differently, act differently, say anything to undo whatever went wrong.

But it was too late.

The shift had already happened. The damage was done. He pulled away.

And I was left completely shattered.

I don’t know how I got through that month.

Rafiq pushed me into the pain.

And Allah pulled me out of it.