The apartment was filled with dust like a “Ghibli image haze” cast over reality. And yeah, it also smelled: of garbage that should’ve been thrown out yesterday, of half-burned, reheated takeout. That kind of scent that clings after weeks of not really living in a place… just surviving in it.
Arjun moved through the flat like someone walking through a memory.
The desk still had Rishi’s half-used candy bar.
The bathroom shelf, now empty, still carried the faint scent of his old shaving cream.
He rolled his last suitcase to the door, paused, then walked into the kitchen for one final check.
It was routine, a habit, checking what was left. They never really kept track of who bought what. And habits die slower than friendships.
It was three months ago.
Rishi had stopped showing up to class. Stopped replying to friends.
Stopped eating with Arjun. Stopped talking at all.
He just slept. Headphones in. Lights off. Always mumbling, “I’m just tired.”
At first, Arjun tried. with jokes, with Late-night food runs.
He even sat through a godawful Marvel rewatch, just to be nearby.
But Rishi stayed quiet. Days blurred into weeks. Worry turned into frustration.
One night, Arjun snapped.
“You can’t just rot in here forever. Talk to someone or at least talk to me.”
Rishi didn’t even look up.
“Not everything needs fixing, Arj. Especially not by you.”
It wasn’t loud, the tone of what Rishi said. But it landed with weight. A door gently closing, not slamming. Still, Arjun heard it loud and clear.
He tried once more, his voice softer, vulnerable.
“If I can’t help you get up, who else can? Put some trust in your friends for once…”
Then Rishi’s voice cracked, louder this time:
“If you can’t let me be real as I am, then what’s the point? What’s the point of this ‘real friendship’?”
Arjun opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He wasn’t trying to fix Rishi but he was really scared. And he couldn’t say that.
So he left the room.
And they hadn’t spoken since.
Now, in the kitchen, the fridge mostly empty, Arjun noticed a note pinned under a garlic-shaped magnet.
He pulled it down.
“In case you ever come back: The coffee beans are in the red tin, and the playlist you hate is still saved on the speaker ;). I didn’t mean to push you out. I just didn’t know how to let someone in while I was falling apart. Hope you’re doing better than I was. – Rishi”
Arjun read it with tears in his eyes. He remembered some events that had happened like: “Once, Rishi had pulled an all nighter just to make Arjun’s final year presentation work, even made coffee in that hideous green mug they always fought over.”
He thought about those ten minutes after the fight that changed this, when he could’ve walked back in and said,
“I’m here. Even if you’re a mess, even if I can’t fix it.”
He thought about the ten months of drifting apart… filling the silence with fake busyness and half-hearted excuses.
And he wondered about ten years from now.
Would they be at the same wedding or the same funeral,
nodding politely like strangers who once shared a beautiful friendship and life?
The cab outside honked, long and impatient. He folded the note, slipped it into his pocket and stood by the door.
The key felt heavy in his hand, not because it opened anything now,
but because it once did.
He didn’t slam the door. He just held it a second too long.
Then locked it.
And left.
The events that led to me writing this story : https://ajayan.substack.com/p/what-i-learned-about-conflict-after