Her house came into view, and I slowed my steps.
I got there first — like I always did.
Always the first to pretend I hadn't been waiting.
[ ... ]
Then—
"BOO!"
Her voice cracked through the morning stillness like a thrown rock through glass.
I flinched.
The air around me shifted, tight.
Her smile, warm on the surface — but I knew better.
It never reached past her lips.
By the time I let out a breath, her smile had already twisted into something smug.
"Whaat? Too shocked?" she teased, half-laughing.
I didn't answer right away.
I let my gaze wander upon her figure.
She stood partially hidden behind a wide post connected to the power supply. Her small frame would vanish in plain sight, and would somehow still leave you looking for her long after she's gone.
"Well... I definitely didn't see that coming," I muttered, trying to shake the tension from my bones.
"Anyway, we should go. We're already late."
She shrugged, it was exaggerated and careless.
She didn't buy it—
and maybe she didn't care to.
Truth was, I had spent too long with the cat again.
Time slipped easier when I wasn't trying to hold onto it.
But at least today, I didn't have to wait for her.
————————————————————
As we passed the alley and stepped into the road, I glanced back to where I'd last seen the black cat.
—but she was gone, leaving only a thread of blood behind, drawn like a whisper into the concrete, vanishing into some place the light doesn't follow.
I knew where she went.
Not because I saw it, but because I understood it— how sometimes you return to the very place that broke you, not out of weakness, but because it's the only place where your pain feels familiar, where you're not expected to mend or explain or pretend you're better —only to keep breathing.
————————————————————
[ A Few Minutes Passed. ]
We raised our hands as a tricycle slowed to meet us, the usual rhythm of the day tugging us forward.
I sat beside her, told myself it felt normal—comfortable, even—
but the lie didn't settle right.
Something inside me tightened the moment the seat shifted beneath my weight,
like the air had changed without warning.
It wasn't fear exactly,
just stillness—familiar in the worst way.
[ "I c■n't re■ember ■hy." ]
I didn't know what happened here, not clearly,
but my body did.
It remembered what I couldn't.
The hum of the wheel buzzed through the road,
and suddenly, it didn't feel like just a ride anymore.
It felt like going back.
Not to a place—
but to a version of myself I didn't want to face again.
The part of me that stayed quiet.
The one who held in things too heavy to say out loud.
I kept my eyes forward,
pretending the wind wasn't hitting something tender inside me.
But I knew the truth—
I'd been here before.
And whatever I tried to forget back then…
never really let me go.
————————————————————
Trying to shake it off, I turned to her.
"Heeyy, do we have anything due today?"
She didn't answer right away. Just blinked slowly, as if she had to swim up from whatever place her mind was in.
"Hmm… just a history quiz, I think—"
"..."
The pause in her voice, the way her words suddenly felt too careful.
"Oh, and that English thing—where we describe our greatest fear using unique adjectives or something."
"Right… that one." I paused. "You done with it?"
She gave a little laugh, like something brittle cracking.
"Nah. I haven't even started yet."
She stretched, like she could shake the weight off her shoulders. But the way her voice wavered told me the weight was still there.
"And anyway," she added, forcing a smile, "I'll just search for some synonyms online or whatever. Easy."
That word.
Easy.
She said it like it was armor. Like if she said it enough, things might actually feel easy again. Like she could outrun whatever was catching up to her just by pretending it wasn't there.
I tried to smile back, but something in me faltered.
"Ha… I'll probably cram too. We always do."
It left my mouth too easily,
like something I'd said so many times it forgot how to mean anything.
But for some reason, this time…
I felt it.
The hollowness of the words.
The weight of everything I'd been pushing behind them.
And it didn't feel true anymore.
Something in me… had changed.
Somewhere between yesterday and today, I'd stopped pretending I was okay with the way things were.
————————————————————
I looked at her again.
She was staring at nothing.
Tapping her fingers on the seat like she was keeping time with a song only she could hear.
She moved through life like nothing asked anything of her.
Like deadlines were just suggestions, and pressure was something other people felt.
—like life was something she watched from a distance, not something she had to carry.
And for a while, I thought that was freedom.
So I mirrored her.
Let myself drift beside her, pretending we were above it all. That it didn't matter if we fell behind, so long as we fell together.
But lately, I started to wonder if she was drifting…
or disappearing.
And if I was letting myself vanish too.
Because behind every laugh that came too fast and every shrug that came too easy, was someone quietly unraveling—someone who still cared more than she dared admit, but learned to bury it just deep enough not to be seen.
And underneath her jokes and her practiced "I'll be fine,"
was someone breaking in ways no one ever asked about.
And I think I recognized it,
not because she told me,
but because I was doing it too.
————————————————————
It was never about the project.
It was about the space between us—how we filled it with noise that didn't matter just to avoid the silence that did.
We sat side by side like two people afraid to speak the first honest word.
Because the moment we did, we might break whatever illusion was keeping us together.
So we stayed quiet.
Carefully.
Until finally—
The ride slowed. The world came back.
And the school gates rose in front of us like teeth.
I watched her shift.
Not in any dramatic way.
Just… subtle.
The way someone does when they're used to hiding. Her face settled into a practiced stillness. Her eyes turned blank, like they'd already checked out.
It was like watching someone fold themselves in half—cutting away the softness, the pieces that didn't fit this place.
And I didn't ask.
Because even if I wanted to, I wouldn't know where to begin.
There are some things she doesn't say, not because she's lying… but because she's still trying to believe them herself.
[ ..... ]
The sun might rise,
but that doesn't mean the darkness leaves.
And what if healing
isn't about becoming whole again?
What if it's just learning how to walk
with pieces missing—
and still calling it living?
Because maybe some of us
aren't meant to let go of the dark.
Maybe it stays
not as punishment,
but as a part of us.
And lately,
I've started to wonder
if the ones who carry it the longest
are the ones who once believed
they could leave it behind.