The Problem

A stray tear rolled down her face. She swiped it away and placed her hand back on the steering wheel. The cardboard box in the passenger seat rattled around as the car hit a series of potholes.

She took a deep breath. She didn’t want to face him. She wanted things to go back to how there were before. It wasn’t perfect; she still cried when she sat alone in her room, thinking of what she was doing wrong.

But it wasn’t her, and it wasn’t him either. They loved each other. They loved each other so much it hurt. They just couldn’t fix their problems with love alone.

Love isn’t enough. Those were the cold words she’d read in dating posts and relationship articles. Love isn’t enough. You need to put a lot work into a relationship.

Isn’t that what she’s been doing? After all those arguments and understandings and apologies and hard decisions; after all the crying and hugging and laughter and love-making; after saying those I love you’s to each other every day for two years⁠—after all that, why wasn’t it enough?

They haven’t spoken to each other for a few weeks at her request. She wanted space, she said. She wanted to think. To cry. To get mad at him. To get mad at herself. She knew she could be overwhelming at times. She knew she needed to be more patient. She tried. She knew he tried as well. He didn’t do things out of malice; she knew that. He just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand her needs. She thought perhaps her needs were too much. But were they?

Is it too much to ask to feel special? To be wanted and adored? Desired and cherished? To be the light of someone’s life? Maybe that was the problem. She didn’t know when to stop asking. She asked for too much and kept asking for more. She didn’t know better. She was learning alongside with him. Maybe she didn’t know how to ask just as he didn’t know how to provide. At least that’s what she’d tell herself.

But she knew he loved her. He showed it in different ways. Maybe she didn’t understand his ways. Maybe that was the problem. So she’d talk to him about it, and he wouldn’t know what to say. He wasn’t good with words. Another problem, perhaps.

She was almost at his house. She didn’t tell him she was coming. Her body trembled as she reached the intersection. She glanced over at the cardboard box. She hoped he would be happy to see her. As if nothing had happened. Another tear escaped and she let it pass. That wouldn’t solve the problem, would it?

The sun started to go down. The twilight blinded her even after she lowered the visor. She hated this time of day for that reason. It was supposedly a beautiful thing to witness, but she couldn’t watch the sunset because of the glare. She remembered him telling her how he watched a sunset once and that he wanted to see one together. They never did. And they probably never will.

She was on his block now. She wiped away her last tears and looked at the box again. Inside was a letter expressing her love for him, along with trinkets that reminded her of their good times together. She didn’t know what she hoped to gain from this⁠—coming over unannounced to deliver this box. She had time to think, but she didn’t know what she wanted.

That’s not entirely true. She wanted to be happy. And she wanted him to be happy. Wasn’t there a way they could do that together?

She didn’t know what more to do. She tried to talk and communicate⁠—the buzzword that “relationship gurus” love to throw around⁠— about her feelings ad nasuem. She tried to get him to communicate, too. She tried to listen, but it was hard when he wouldn’t have much to say. She tried backing off and she tried pushing him to his limits. She tried working on herself, but she was more concerned about working on him instead. She wanted him to grow into a better version of himself. One who could speak his mind and face his problems.

But she lost herself in doing so. In a twisted stroke of irony, she became a problem. Maybe that’s it. Maybe he wouldn’t say it outright, but she knew what she was becoming. And she hated it.

Maybe it wasn’t a problem of communication but of compatibility. How sad is it to know that no matter how hard you work, you’ll never be right for one another? She didn’t want to believe it, but the nagging voice in her mind kept telling her to let him go.

So she packed a box to give him and drove to his house in contemplative silence. Finally, she was at his doorstep. Her faced adorned with puffy eyes and a stiff jaw. She let out a hearty breath. Her body hadn’t stopped trembling. She didn’t know how to fix the problem. She thought maybe...maybe this time he would have the answer.

She rang the doorbell and braced herself, unsure of what he’d say when he saw her. He probably wasn’t expecting to see her again, and with a resigned sigh, she thought that might have been for the best. But here she was.

Anxious. Hopeful. Regretful. Dejected. Furious. And so very lost.

The locks clicked about and the doorknob slowly turned. She rubbed away another blasted tear.

Now they could solve this problem once and for all.