HUNGER

That Tuesday in winter, the coldest breeze found its way through my thickest sweater. I shivered, a tremor that began not in my skin, but in the gleeful pulse of my heart.

A heart is strange. It shivers, quivers, forgets its rhythm for no reason at all.

For all my twenty years, a subtle famine lingered. My mother was not unkind. The meals she prepared warmed my belly; I could smell their promise from my room, a siren call of spices and heat. But I would always find an empty kitchen, the food left steaming on the table like a ghost of care. She fed my body, dutifully, while my heart remained empty. For her, it was a task completed. For me, an absence served.

I was grateful. How could I not be? She worked for a future she said would be mine. To mourn the missing warmth across the table felt like a betrayal when she was keeping me alive. So the hunger stayed, a silent companion.

But today, for the first time, my heart was utterly full.

No plate, no meal, no aroma could claim the credit.

It was him.

Only him.

I ate my food, which was a bit cold today. Mom had left early for an emergency meeting. Strangely, I wasn’t bothered. I ate with a smile.

As I finished, my phone rang. I ran for it, a scramble of hope, like a dog at the sound of the word treat.

And this was to be my treat. A vast one. The kind that feeds a starving heart.

I cleared my throat before answering, a feeble attempt to disguise the hunger in my voice. “Hello?”

My voice echoed through the empty house; a sound drowned out by the sudden, deafening rhythm of my own heart.

“Hey.”

His voice, pleasant and warm, struck my ears and for a single, glorious instant, calmed everything.

“I’m sorry... I can’t make it there this week.”

His words were soft, wrapped in a careful, apologetic bundle.

He won’t be coming? But yesterday, he promised. My heart, so full a moment ago, felt like a fresh canvas, beautiful and waiting, upon which a splash of thick, black paint had just been spilled. What was this feeling? Disappointment? It felt older, and deeper.

“Oh... No, it’s alright,” I said, the words automatic, diplomatic. “You were here last week. And it’s not a short journey, six hours to come, six to go. I get it.”

I had to say it. While eating, you dine alone to fill your belly; you share a meal to fill your heart. I had to offer respect, to maybe earn that shared feast back someday. The logic of the six hours between us felt like a wall I had to gracefully acknowledge.

“Mhm. Sorry again, Kate. I know you were waiting. Something important came up.”

His tone was somber now, a final nail.

In my mind, I saw it. One of the top cards in a carefully balanced house of cards fluttered loose and fell. It wasn’t from the foundation. It wouldn’t all collapse. Surely, it was just the wind.

“It’s alright,” I repeated, a hollow echo. “Hey, but you do rem—”

Remember it’s my birthday tomorrow, right?

The remaining words dissolved on my tongue, leaving a bitter, metallic taste. And an emptiness, vaster than before, where my heart had just been so full.

“Can I call you later? I’m a bit busy. It’s the semester end.”

“Yeah, totally.”

The call ended.

I did not know how to read this situation. Anxiety is a demon. Once it has you in its grip, it feeds on both your appetite and your emotions, leaving you hollow. I was in its grips.

I immediately dialed Rhea’s number.

“Hey, Katie! What’s up?” Her voice was a bright bell, so opposite the quiet sinking within me.

“Rhea... he isn’t coming tomorrow,” I said, the sadness a solid weight in my throat. She was my best friend, the only one with whom I could lay my feelings bare without shame.

“Oh... Did he say why?” Her tone softened, mirroring mine.

“He said he was busy. It’s the end of the semester, you see.”

“But it’s your birthday tomorrow!”

“Yeah.” The word was heavy. “What do I even do? He’s never been like this.”

“Well, I’ve seen how sweet he is in person, Kate. Calm down. Maybe he’s just playing a prank, to surprise you tomorrow, right?”

She said it to cheer me on. And given his history, the respect, the affection that spanned the distance, the twelve-hour journeys he’d made nearly every week just to be with me, how he had pulled me from my nightmares and fed me love, it was possible. It was the kind of hope you cling to.

“Maybe,” I answered, the doubt a thin crack in my voice.

“Right. Katie, don’t worry too much. It’s going to be alright, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow?”

“See you.”

Our conversation ended. Now I was on my bed, counting the minutes until tomorrow, each one a slow, dragging weight.

Time, as if chased by a demon, began to race. It was 11:59 PM. I lay in the dark, waiting. Hungry.

12:00 AM.

My phone rang. It was him.

This time, my heart thudded so aggressively I felt it might tear through my chest, a frantic, willing sacrifice just to be near him.

“Hello?” I could not steady my unsteady voice.

“Hey. Happy birthday, Katie.”

He sounded… awkward. Awkward? But why?

“Thanks. Were you busy?”

“Uh, yes, actually. Kate, I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah. Go on.”

“I’m sorry, Kate. I don’t think I can handle our relationship. I need some time to think it over.”

Doom.

That is the word for the silence that followed his nightmarish sentence.

“Why?”

The question left me, a small act of self-destruction. Like scratching at a wound to make it bigger, to understand its shape.

“I- I had perceived relationships as something more… than what I’m seeing with you. This isn’t it, Kate. It isn’t you, it’s me… I’m sorry.”

My mind echoed, a broken chamber.

Why?

What has changed?

Is it not cruel to feed a starving heart, only to snatch the plate away?

If I was not the lifetime you imagined, then why was I the only one fed on that dream?

The truth, cold and absolute, settled in the silence between his words. I had loved him, attached myself to him, with a depth he had never matched. My famine had made a feast of his crumbs.

Now, I had two choices: to beg, to cling to this thorny rope that was already shredding my palms, causing us both to bleed or to let go. To return to the old, familiar hunger.

I chose the famine I knew.

“Yes. Yes, I understand…”

The words leached from my lips, a slow poison. Everything else he said was a distant blur, explanations, reasons, drowned out by the sound of my own heart breaking. Tears bled from the edges of my eyes, tracing the contours of a loss I was already learning to inhabit.

All the cards at the bottom, the very foundation of that delicate house, tumbled down into a meaningless lump.

The hunger he had awakened was now left utterly unsatisfied, in both belly and heart. He did not just leave it empty; he carved a hole through its center. A void no future feast could ever hope to fill.

Thanks to him.