The habit

The husband and wife were sitting on the porch of their house, from where the asphalt road could be seen, stretched out like a rug. Each of them held a mobile phone in their hands: his was dark blue, and hers, emerald green. The afternoon was fading among the clouds, and a light breeze signaled rain to come. For them, it was pleasant to pass the hours this way, without speaking to each other—or, rather, without doing so verbally. Likewise, they took care not to look at each other directly, only glancing sideways to check on what the other was doing.

They had fallen into this habit a few years ago, following an argument; she texted him, saying she would not speak to him until he apologized for some words that had hurt her. In turn, he replied that he had no intention of apologizing, as he considered her reaction an exaggeration. Thus, out of a simple, ordinary argument between a husband and wife, the habit of texting each other on their phones took root, and they never spoke aloud to each other again. They could, of course, converse verbally with everyone else when they were out in public or were at work, and even when relatives called on the phone, always being careful never to cross the boundary of doing so between themselves.

Their text messages became precise and limited to essentials; they no longer found it necessary to exchange opinions as they once had, and knowing that the other was there, present, yet without hearing their voice, became as necessary as it was pleasing. This practice led them to understand each other so well that they could anticipate each other’s chores and, therefore, required fewer messages. They refined it with such detail and mastery that they could leave the house to go for a walk or shopping, and it was seamless to walk together, without looking at each other, yet sharing spaces, meals, or a movie. In the neighborhood, they were held in high esteem for being so devoted and close; they were a source of admiration and an example for other couples, and though they had no children, they did not fail to convey that placid feeling of a happy home.

The sudden passing of the wife cut that lifestyle short; the brokenhearted man wept bitterly over his loss and shut himself away in a silence so somber that his family could do nothing to help. Without her, life lacked any appeal, and in his loneliness, he kept busy by continuing to text her on his phone, hoping that his messages would cross the boundary of death and somehow be received. Only now he wrote at all times, without pause, telling her what he was doing, his thoughts, and especially how much he missed her and his absolute love. Such was his insistence and his faith that, finally one day, a green light flashed on the phone screen—a code showing that a reply had just arrived. Thrilled and terrified at the same time, he pressed the screen; the message was short and devastating, stating that the contact number now belonged to a new user, who thanked him for not texting anymore.