THE NIGHT HE NEVER CAME HOME

The night wept with him, heavy and slow,

A symphony of sorrow, a requiem low.

Raindrops kissed his trembling skin,

But nothing could wash away the ache within.

His phone flickered—a ghost in his hand,

A truth too cruel for a heart to withstand.

“Come over, he’s asleep.”

“Last night was unforgettable, baby.”

“I love you, but he doesn’t have to know.”

His breath hitched, his chest turned tight,

Love had never felt so contrite.

But forever was a lie.

She was the one who had whispered, “I love you.”

She was the one who had held his hand like he was the only man in the world.

She was the one who had made him believe.

And now, she was the one who had ripped him apart.

His feet dragged him through empty streets,

Each step a wound, each thought—defeat.

The house stood quiet, its windows aglow,

Inside, she laughed—soft, shallow, low.

Not with him. Never with him.

His heart caved in; his world turned black,

His fists clenched, no turning back.

A brick lay cold against his touch,

A love once pure, now stained too much.

CRASH.

Glass rained down like shattered trust,

A body moved—a startled thrust.

A man, her lover, bare and scared,

But love and madness were never fair.

The walls ran red, the air turned thick,

The scent of betrayal, sharp and sick.

The man gasped, his breath ran dry,

A broken skull, a silent cry.

She screamed—his love had died.

But her voice was nothing, lost in the tide,

For he was laughing, hollow inside.

A melody twisted, cruel and deep,

The sound of a soul too scarred to keep.

A glint of glass, a silver tear,

His own reflection smiled in fear.

He raised his hand—one final choice,

A lullaby sung in a breathless voice.

SLASH.

Blood pooled on the cold asphalt.

His body lay still, eyes open, staring at the night sky they once watched together.

The same sky under which she had promised, “Forever.”

But forever had ended in a single moment.

---

The Next Morning

She sat in silence, bathed in red,

Trapped in echoes of words unsaid.

The police asked, but she could not speak,

For his voice still lingered, cold and weak.

And then—her phone, a silent glow,

A draft unsent, from nights ago.

“Come over, he’s asleep.”

She gasped, her heart turned stone,

For beneath those words…

Was a reply from his broken phone.

“I know.”

The lights flickered. The air grew thin.

And when she looked into the mirror—

He was grinning from within.

---

Every night, she heard him near,

A whisper crawling through her ear.

And on the day their love had died,

Her reflection smiled. But she never tried.

The room turned black.

And she screamed.

The girl later found his last unsent text in his drafts:

“I was coming to ask if you still loved me. But I already got my answer.”

-Yasir