Elena didn't go to class the next day.
Her phone kept lighting up — Marcus's name appearing over and over — but she didn't have the courage to open any message.
The memory of her own voice shouting still echoed in her chest.
She sat by the window, hugging her knees.
The morning light painted her face gold, but she felt grey inside.
Outside, life moved — students laughing, bikes honking, birds being birds — yet she felt like she was standing behind a glass wall, unseen and untouched.
She picked up her journal and stared at a blank page for what felt like an hour.
Then, slowly, she wrote:
"Sometimes I hate myself for feeling too much… and for pretending not to."
Her handwriting trembled.
A part of her wished Marcus would stop texting, so she wouldn't have to feel guilty for ignoring him.
But another part — the smaller, softer one — wished he wouldn't give up.
By afternoon, she finally unlocked her phone.
His last message read:
"You don't owe me anything, Elena. But please don't shut yourself off. I know you're hurting — I just don't want to be another person you push away."
Her heart ached reading it. He was kind.
Maybe too kind for someone like her right now.
She placed the phone down and whispered to herself,
"I don't even know how to let anyone love me right now."
Then, like a crack of light through old curtains, a memory slipped in.
She was back in Nathan's room — the curtains half-drawn, his scent still on the pillow beside her.
Her mind had been restless that day too.
Her fees were due, and her wallet was nearly empty.
Her thoughts had fought each other like enemies wearing the same face.
"Just tell him. He'll understand," one voice whispered.
"Don't. You'll start depending on him. Then what? You'll lose yourself again," another shot back.
She remembered sitting at the edge of his bed, whispering to herself:
"No… I'll figure it out. Everyone's fighting their own battles. Who would even leave theirs just to carry mine?"
And so, she hadn't asked.
She'd smiled that evening, acting fine, while he talked about his plans and future.
He had no idea she was silently breaking inside — choosing pride over need, silence over trust.
Now, months later, she could see how that silence had built a wall between them.
One she never tore down until it was too late.
Another memory followed — softer, sweeter.
It was the beginning — when everything between them still felt easy.
When she used to watch him sleep and whisper,
"I'll never hurt him… I'll try everything to avoid causing him pain. I really love it here."
Back then, love had felt safe. Simple.
Now, it felt like walking barefoot through glass — every step reminding her of how much she'd already bled.
Elena blinked, pulling herself back to the present.
Her chest ached with a quiet realization:
she wasn't just mourning what she lost — she was mourning the version of herself that believed love alone could save her.
That night, she didn't cry.
She just lay awake, staring at the ceiling, realizing that maybe healing doesn't always come with loud breakthroughs —
sometimes, it's just the quiet decision to keep going, even when your heart still limps.