Shadows and Whispers:

Denzil Jayasinghe

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Coleen tiptoed to the threshold, her slippers hushing against the carpet. “Maybe today he forgets,” she whispered, a strand of hope as delicate as a prayer bead twining around her heart.

But the room lay still, the air unstirred by the rustle of fabric. A pang of disappointment, sharp and sudden, pricked her. She nudged the door open with a sigh that seemed to scrape her soul.

The lad stood by the window, down to his Hanes undies, his back a silent silhouette against the afternoon light, motionless as if carved from the dark wood of the jack trees that lined his backyard at home.

Coleen scrutinised the young man keenly, her gaze on his lanky frame, settling thoughtfully on his waist and what lay just beneath, covered in white undies.

“Such a mess,” Coleen muttered, her eyes flitting over the clothes draped like defeated soldiers over the chair. The lad turned, his face half-hidden in shadows, half-lit with defiance.

“Hey, boy,” she began her voice a mix of warmth and weariness. Do you ever tire of this… this charade?”

The boy’s eyes met hers, a spark of rebellion flickering within. “Every day is a masquerade with Rex,” she said, the words heavy with a truth he was only beginning to understand.

Coleen leaned against the door frame, her painted smile faltering. “He calls me ‘my wife’ as if the past can be draped over the present like a shawl over weary shoulders.”

The lad watched her, his young mind racing to piece together the puzzle of adulthood before him. “And what of your new husband?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Coleen’s eyes darted towards the door, then back to the lad. “I’ve spoken to my boss at the Palace Hotel. A work visa, a new start,” she confided, the words tumbling out like dice rolling for fate.

“And Rex?” the lad pressed, his curiosity a living thing.

She sighed a sound that seemed to carry the weight of all her years. “Rex’s world is shrinking. His parties, his laughter, all fading. He’s become a storm cloud in sunny weather.”

The lad nodded, understanding dawning like the first light of day. “And you? What will you do?”

Olean straightened, her resolve hardening. “I will wait for Brax. And when he arrives, this chapter closes.”

The lad watched her, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, the delicate dance of past and present. In Coleen’s words, he heard the echo of a future yet to be written, a tale of separation and reunion, of lives intertwined and unravelled.

Disclaimer: The above is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The author has made every effort to portray the characters and events in a fictional and entertaining manner.