When he got home, he felt nothing.
Not happiness.
Not sadness.
Just emptiness.
The apartment welcomed him with the same silence he had lived with for years. He changed his clothes, put his phone aside, and slipped back into his routine as if nothing extraordinary had happened. No racing heart. No excitement. Just quiet familiarity.
After a while, his phone rang.
It was his mother.
He answered immediately, as he always did. They talked about small things at first—how his day was, whether he had eaten, how the weather felt. Then a brief silence fell between them.
He decided it was time.
"Mom," he said calmly, "I'm getting married."
The line went quiet.
"…What?" she asked, unsure she had heard him correctly.
"I'm getting married," he repeated.
What followed was chaos.
She screamed. She cried. She laughed. Then she yelled at him for announcing something so important so casually. But nothing could hide her joy. She had waited for this moment for years—dreamed of it, prayed for it.
Then the questions came rushing in.
"Who is she?"
"How did you meet?"
"When is it happening?"
He answered each one patiently, his tone steady, almost detached.
Then she hesitated.
"Do you like her?" she asked carefully. "Are you… happy?"
He opened his mouth to answer.
Nothing came out.
For the first time, he felt lost.
He didn't believe in love. He had never experienced it. He didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. Yet his mind told him this was the right decision. She was kind. She was hardworking. She liked him. She was suitable.
The perfect choice.
After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"Mom," he said, "didn't you always want me to get married and start a family?"
"Yes," she replied softly.
"Then here I am," he continued. "Doing what you've been dreaming of for a long time. Don't ask unnecessary questions. Just start getting ready… because your son will be getting married soon."
The call ended.
The apartment returned to silence.
And once again, he was alone—with a decision that felt right in his mind, yet strangely empty in his heart.