The Question of Exes
We tend to villainize our exes. Perhaps it is the echo of disappointment, the sting of expectations we once placed too high. Why did we raise them to deity status, worshipping each smile, each word, as though it could never fail? And yet, the very human cracks — impatience, indifference, flaws — that emerge eventually, are enough to make us recoil. How could someone I once adored, someone I had once loved so fiercely, now feel alien, even unwelcome? Where does that love go? Where does an ocean hide when it withdraws from the shore?
Until I understood what caused this slow death of relationships, I was content to make my bed along the outskirts of what people called ‘a committed relationship.’ I was happy to sit on the grand stands and cheer on fools like my ex Hua, throwing themselves headfirst into the pools of commitment – not even a few months after our drowning. Commitment, I believed, was for fools. We, the wise, committed only to what we knew — the warmth of now, the thrill of uncertainty. And with you, Ichika, that thrill was doubled. A kiss was weightier, a touch more potent, because it might be the last. Your independence — the knowledge that you could vanish in an hour — was intoxicating, the pulse of danger mingling with desire. Every day became a careful dance: ensuring we were chosen, and choosing in return.
That thrill was multiplied when Hua burst through the door unexpectedly — catching us like two high school kids in mischief, perhaps one high school kid I should say, the other was perhaps one at heart. The house seemed to shrink, walls closing in, ceilings dropping, furniture conspiring. And there you were, Ichika, shrinking slightly, pressing against your lap, vulnerable yet composed.
Hua’s eyes swept over you. “Who is this child?!” she demanded, as if your presence were a threat.
I felt my blood boil. “Hua! You don’t get to speak to her that way!” I snapped, frustration spilling from my chest. “Since when do you police who comes to my house and who doesn’t?!”
You remained calm, quietly trying to shrink further, but her attention was merciless. I hated seeing you uncomfortable; it made my anger flare even more.
You, whispered softly, “Please, don’t fight. I can leave.” But I refused to let you go. Not today. Not ever.
The Boma
“Do you still love her?” you had asked as we sat in the backyard boma one evening a while back, the flames dancing before us. I let out a deep sigh, slowly turning the marshmallow over the fire, watching it go golden brown.
“I do love her, Ichika,” I admitted. My voice felt heavy, dredging up memories I had long buried. The mind is good at hiding dead things, but sometimes healing required impromptu exhumations.
Your expression remained unreadable, a sealed envelope, the firelight painting moving images across your smooth skin. You were more focused on the marshmallow, yet I saw the flicker of curiosity in your eyes.
“You don’t have to cook it, Ichika,” I laughed.
You scrunched your face, releasing a sarcastic snigger. “Well, unlike you, I don’t have my Doctorate in marshmallow roasting yet. Why do people burn marshmallows anyway?”
“I think you should just taste it and find out,” I said.
Your emerald eyes strayed to my lips for a split second, then returned to the marshmallow. You brought it close to yours, blowing gently, hesitation in your movements, but still eager. I felt the memory of our crime a week prior lingering in the curve of your lips.
Your eyes widened instantly in delight as the soft, gooey interior met your tongue. “The melted part is so soft and gooey, and the burnt part is so crisp! It’s amazing, Mingze!” You threw your arms around me. I cherished that rare closeness, pleading, “Please, just a few seconds more.”
You smiled wittingly, leaning back against me like a magnet, longer than a few seconds, and I savored every heartbeat of that stolen intimacy.
“Why don’t you pursue her?” you asked after a pause, your arms still around me.
“Sorry, what?”
“If you love your ex, why don’t you pursue her again?”
“Because my heart belongs to another woman now.”
You looked up at me, longing in your stormy eyes. “She must be a very, very lucky woman.” That was when I realised that your lips had been a mere breath away from mine – the suspect returning to the scene of the crime.
“She is,” I whispered.
And that, that was where our third crime took place.
The intrusion
Hua’s intrusion loomed: she dropped her bag on the table with a thud, strutting through the house with all the sharpness of someone who wanted to make a point. “Well, well, well,” she smirked, scanning you up and down, forcing you to shrink into yourself. “Seems like I’m not the only one who’s ‘moved on.’” You shrank slightly, still clasping your hands in front of you.
Hua’s gaze lingered. “Are you two fucking?”
You remained calm, standing quietly as if the walls themselves had lent you their strength. Your hand brushed my waist, a quiet reassurance: I can handle this.
“No, ma’am. I am actually the new babysitter,” you said gently. The room seemed to exhale. The lie was simple, elegant — a shield against chaos. I caught your eye, a flicker of mischief hidden in your emerald depths. Again, I saw that defiant side of you piercing through that mask of innocence like a flash of lightning in a storm. Even though it was to our benefit in this situation, I couldn’t help but worry how good of a liar you were.
“Then you have nothing to worry about,” I added. “She is very good with children, and they will love her.”
Hua’s interrogation waned only slightly, her gaze locked on you, unable to reconcile this quiet, self-possessed presence with her assumptions. The house, once neutral, had become an arena, and you had quietly claimed it. Hua’s gaze lingered, still suspicious, until I spoke again, calm and steady, “Look Hua, I understand that you are concerned for the children’s safety,” I said firmly. “You don’t need to worry — Ichika is perfectly capable.”
Later, as Hua called me outside for a momentary reprieve, on the verandah, the night air was cool, crisp. She pulled me aside briefly, whispering cautions and questions. “Mingze, please be careful.”
“I am careful, Hua,” I replied, though her questions stirred up doubts I couldn’t quite shake.
“Hua, I told you, she’s just there to help mind the kids.”
“Was ‘hot young teenager,’ part of the job description?”
I looked away as my conscience started to burn. Hua had a way of stoking those embers.
“I am careful Hua.”
“Really? How old is she?”
“I… I’m not sure.”
“Where is her family?”
I didn’t want to tell her that I knew your dad, and the circumstances surrounding her relationship with him as I didn’t want to give her more reason to doubt.
“I… I’m not exactly sure.”
“Then you are not being careful enough.”
Lives Between Walls 
What do you think about this?