M_shqne
Her childhood home was quiet-not the peaceful kind, but the kind that made her feel like emotions were things to whisper. There were moments of joy, yes, but they flickered like candlelight in a room too big for them. Back then, she didn't understand the weight adults carried. She was just a girl, trying to find laughter in the hush.
Then came the fracture. Her parents, long drifting apart, finally separated. It wasn't sudden-it was the kind of break that had been echoing for years. And with it, her focus began to blur. School no longer felt important. Her mind wandered. Her heart ached. And the people around her began to fade.
Her friends, once her safe space, started pulling away-not with cruelty, but with quiet discomfort. They said the right things: "If you need us, just ask." But their actions didn't match. She could feel it-the way her pain made them uncomfortable, the way her silence became too heavy for them to carry. They didn't slam the door. They just stopped knocking.
Except for two. Her two best friends stayed. They didn't always have the answers, but they never let go. In a world that kept shifting, they were her anchors. She was lucky to have them.
And then there was him.
The boy who saw her-not just the version she showed the world, but the one she kept hidden. On the day she left town to live with her aunt, he made a promise: "I'll be here when you come back." He told her to take care. He didn't say forever. He didn't say when. But he said enough to make her heart hold on.
Now, in her aunt's house-another quiet place, but different-she's learning to breathe again. She's surrounded by unfamiliar routines, distant relatives, and the ache of everything she left behind. But she's also learning something else: that healing doesn't come all at once. It comes in pieces. In late-night texts from her two best friends. In memories that don't hurt as much. In the hope that maybe, just maybe, he'll keep his promise.