I jolted awake from my bed, in a trance—finding it hard to pull myself away from the surging feeling that I had forgotten something. My heart pounded as though my mind was clinging desperately to a fading thread. It felt like I wasn't myself anymore, like I had been dropped into a body that didn't quite belong to me. Then suddenly—rising like a huge tidal wave ready to crush my whole being—I remembered everything.
I remembered how I had struggled through life, trudging step by step through loneliness and hardship, until somewhere along the way, I slowly began to fall in love with someone. Every moment with her played in my mind like a movie—seemingly short, but each frame overflowing with emotion. The sound of her laughter, the warmth of her hand in mine, the little glances we shared that spoke louder than words... it all came back at once.
Tears blurred my vision, and sobs tore from my throat, unwilling to accept that everything that had happened was now nothing more than a fleeting dream. My hands covered my face as I cried my heart out—tormented by the crushing reality pressing down on me.
Seconds blurred into minutes, and minutes into hours. I found myself motionless, as though my soul had been drained out of my body, leaving only an empty shell. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe without feeling the weight of loss pressing against my chest.
I couldn't believe—no, I refused to believe—that the life I had with her, with Alicia, was all just a creation of my mind.
A sudden, sharp knocking jolted through the apartment. It felt loud enough to echo in my bones. I had locked myself in here for two whole days. Meals sat untouched on the table. My stomach ached from hunger, but even the thought of eating made me feel sick. I had been trying to recover from the heavy tangle of thoughts and emotions dragging me under, but every time I closed my eyes, hoping to return to the life that felt more familiar than this one, I was met with nothing but darkness.
The hopelessness whispered to me over and over: I don't want to live anymore.
"Mika! Open the door!" a voice called out, followed by loud, urgent banging. The sound crashed through the deathly silence of my room. The voice was familiar and yet not hers—not Alicia's. "If you don't open this, I'll break in!" The voice was thick with worry, shaking with a mix of fear and frustration.
I didn't move. I didn't answer. My body felt too heavy, my will too hollow to respond. I closed my eyes, shutting out the world, wishing it would all just disappear.
The knocking stopped. Silence filled the air again, and I let out a long, tired sigh. But before I could sink back into my numbness, the apartment door burst open with a bang. Footsteps pounded toward my room, fast and unrelenting.
The door swung open, and she was there—rushing toward me, her voice laced with panic. "Mika! Are you alright?! What happened?!" My best friend, Kia, dropped to her knees beside me, her trembling hands gripping my shoulders. She shook me, desperate for a response.
I opened my eyes and met her worried gaze. In that moment, reality hit me again like ice water. This was my real life. Not the one I had dreamed of. Kia's anxious face was real. The way she gripped me, the sting of her voice in my ears—it was all real. And it was nothing like the reality I wanted.
A heart-wrenching wail escaped me before I could stop it. The sound made Kia's eyes widen in alarm. I buried my face in my hands, the grief breaking through again. I didn't know what to do anymore. Every reason I'd had to keep going had vanished with the dream I couldn't return to.
Kia's arms wrapped around me, holding me firmly. She patted my back in a slow, steady rhythm, murmuring soft reassurances I barely heard. I cried until I was too tired to cry anymore, my body sagging into hers. Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under, and I drifted into a restless sleep.
When I woke, Kia was still there, sitting beside my bed. My room—which had been a mess of tangled sheets, scattered clothes, and unopened food containers—was now clean and bright. The curtains were open, letting sunlight spill in. My eyes, sore and puffy from days of crying, squinted against the light.
Kia noticed I was awake and hurried to my side. "Are you alright now?" she asked gently, helping me sit up. She handed me a glass of water, watching me closely. Her gaze was probing, filled with unspoken questions. I could tell she wanted to know what had happened to me, why I had shut myself away.
But what could I tell her? That I had been living in a world that only existed in my head? That my heart belonged to someone who had never truly been here? She'd think I'd gone insane.
"I'm fine now," I said instead. The words tasted like lies in my mouth, but they were all I could offer. I needed to face what was in front of me, no matter how much I hated it.
Kia studied me for a moment, then gave a small nod. "That's good. But if you're struggling, don't hesitate to come to me, okay?"
I forced a small smile and nodded. She didn't press the matter further.
Days passed. I forced myself back into my routines, burying myself in work so I could drown out the longing clawing at my chest. I worked until my eyes blurred, stopping only for quick meals and short, dreamless sleeps. I avoided quiet moments, because silence gave my mind room to remember. And remembering hurt.
But at night, when the world went still and I was alone again, the ache returned. I would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking of her—of Alicia. I would replay the dream over and over, terrified of the day when even my memory of her would fade.
Sometimes, I thought I heard her voice in the hum of the refrigerator or the whisper of the wind outside my window. Sometimes, I woke up reaching for her hand, only to find the empty space beside me cold.
It was in these moments that I realized something cruel: grief doesn't care if what you lost was real or not. The heart doesn't distinguish between dream and reality. Love, once felt, becomes part of you—and losing it leaves scars all the same.