Title: “Still Lit”

The house was dark, quiet, and smelled faintly of burnt sugar. You stumbled a little, heels in one hand, phone in the other—laughing still from a meme your friend sent after the club. It was 3:07 a.m.

You didn’t expect the light in the dining room to be on.

You definitely didn’t expect him.

Zuhair was seated at the end of the table, shoulders stiff, his white cane propped awkwardly beside his chair. The table was set—sloppy, off-center—but filled with effort. A lopsided cake. Cold pasta. Candles long melted down, dripping wax into the dishes.

He smiled when he heard you come in. That kind of smile people wear when they’re scared of how much they hope.

“I— I wanted to do something nice,” he said, voice soft. “It’s your birthday. I stayed up. I thought maybe you’d come home early tonight.”

You dropped your bag with a sigh. His head tilted slightly at the sound.

“You stayed up for this?” you said, eyeing the mess. “There’s wax in the food, Zuhair. Like—how does that even happen? You couldn’t wait ‘til tomorrow and not trash the kitchen?”

“I just…” he started, then stopped.

“You just what, huh?” You weren’t yelling. Just slurring. Cold. Detached. “You thought one cake would fix everything? That I’d magically fall in love with the guy I was forced to marry just because he remembered a f***ing date?”

He didn’t move.

“You’re always there, always trying, like some damn ghost that won’t leave. I didn’t sign up to babysit a blind man for life. I signed up because I had no choice. And I can’t do this anymore, Zuhair. I can’t keep pretending I don’t resent you.”

Silence.

A long, painful silence, like the breath the universe holds before something breaks. Then, finally, his voice—flat and tired.

“…I know you didn’t want me.”

You turned away, jaw tight.

“But I thought maybe,” he continued, “if I stayed kind enough… if I made it easy enough to be with me… maybe one day you’d stay because you wanted to. Not because you had to.”

You froze, his words catching up too late.

“I never wanted to be your burden,” he added, barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to be your choice.”

There was a shake in his hand now. And for the first time in years, he stopped reaching for you. Stopped trying to find your face when he spoke.

You said nothing.

He stood slowly, feeling for the cane.

And right before leaving the room— he said the only thing he ever said that made you feel anything.

“You know what’s funny? I memorized every corner of this house… just so I wouldn’t bump into you by accident.”