I was down on the cold floor of my bedroom — thoughts racing, heart pounding, hot tears sliding down my cheeks faster than I could breathe.
We were unstoppable. Just like humans need oxygen to live, he was my breath of fresh air. My new beginning.
Oh Victor, my Victor — as I fondly called him.
Our first encounter was magical, like something out of a book. It felt like we were made for each other — two perfectly mismatched puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. I had given up on love long ago. Swore it didn't exist. I had never been lucky with relationships. But Victor… he made me feel different. Cared for. Heard. Seen.
For the first time in forever, I felt special — like I mattered to someone.
With Victor, I smiled differently. The world looked lighter. My problems didn't magically vanish, but with him around, they felt easier to carry. My love for Victor knew no bounds. Every day with him felt new — like how people celebrate their birthdays once a year, full of cake, music, laughter... but with Victor, every single day felt like that. Like waking up to sunlight after endless nights of storms.
I closed my eyes and hugged my pillow tighter.
(Pause)
"Please, go on, dear. Why did you stop?"
Mrs. Thompson, my therapist, asked gently.
I had forgotten I was still on a Zoom call. My eyes were swollen, my throat dry, makeup ruined. I had buried my face into the pillow, trying to avoid everything — including my own thoughts.
Suddenly I sat up and reached for my phone.
"Oh shit! I'm late for Chemistry class!" I yelled.
Mrs. Thompson tried to calm me. "Maria, we're not done yet. Give yourself a break, baby. Just breathe... Now, tell me more about this Victor guy—"
I ended the call before she could say another word.
"No no no… I'm screwed for sure," I muttered, stumbling into the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror looked like a ghost of the girl I used to be. My room was a war zone — clothes scattered across the floor, junk food wrappers stacked like mini mountains, cups of forgotten coffee growing mold in corners. The smell? Don't ask. I hadn't done laundry in weeks.
Somewhere in the mess, I started searching frantically — not for a book or assignment, but for it.
My favorite pink hoodie.
Victor's first gift to me.
It was oversized, soft, a bit faded now. But it was more than just cloth. It was a memory, a timestamp from when things were still beautiful.
"Yay!! Found it!" I shouted, lifting it high like a champion raising a trophy. Just as I was about to do a little victory dance, I tripped over a pile of clothes and fell flat.
I lay there for a second — laughing and crying at the same time.
That hoodie had seen it all — the late-night FaceTime calls, the early morning cuddles, the rain-soaked walks, the sleepy kisses. It still smelled faintly of his cologne… or maybe that was just in my head.
I bolted into the bathroom and turned on "Happier Than Ever" by Billie Eilish. The words wrapped around me like a blanket. It was like the song knew me — knew the kind of pain that wears a smile on the outside and a hole in the heart.
Dressed in my usual oversized jeans and baggy top, I clung to the pink hoodie like my life depended on it. In the mirror, I stared hard — not just at my face, but deeper. Searching for something... someone. Maybe the old Maria.
I gazed at my body. Objectively, I looked fine — tall, hourglass-shaped, light-skinned, 5'11", with a skin tone that popped under the sun. People always complimented me. Said I could model. That I had a glow. But inside? I felt hollow.
My eyes welled up again.
"Not again," I whispered, almost begging my reflection to hold it together.
Once upon a time, I was full of life. My fashion sense was loud, quirky, unapologetic. I wore glitter eyeshadow to buy groceries. I danced barefoot in parking lots. I laughed like the world wasn't burning. Now even I didn't recognize myself. I couldn't tell when the change happened. Or why.
Love can be magical, yes. But when it ends — when it shatters — it doesn't just break your heart. It breaks your spirit. And rebuilding it? That's the real work.
I rushed out of the house, grabbed my car keys, and drove straight to St. Dongkins College. It was a long ride from my off-campus apartment, but I preferred it that way. The distance helped. Or at least, that's what I told myself.
The drive was quiet. No music this time. Just thoughts. And the soft clutch of the hoodie in my hand, like I was holding onto more than just fabric.
I remembered the last day I saw him.
It wasn't dramatic. No yelling. No slammed doors. Just… silence. The kind that echoed. He said he needed space. I smiled and said "okay," pretending I was cool with it.
Then he left. And never came back.
I never asked questions. Never begged. I just… watched the door. And when it didn't open again, I folded myself into grief like a blanket I couldn't throw off.
Now, each morning I woke up and put on that hoodie like armor. Not because I missed him — though I did. But because it reminded me of the version of myself I missed more.
The girl who fell in love. Who believed in soft touches and quiet mornings. Who trusted.
Maybe I wasn't holding onto Victor anymore.
Maybe I was holding onto who I was when I was with him.
And that version of me?
She wasn't broken.
She was bold.
She was full of fire.
She was me — unfiltered, unguarded, whole.
The hoodie wasn't magic. It wouldn't heal me. But maybe it was a start. A reminder that love, even when lost, can leave behind something beautiful.
I parked my car, stepped out, and zipped the hoodie up. The morning air hit my face — fresh, sharp, real.
Classes would be boring. Maybe I'd be late. Maybe I'd fall asleep halfway through. But today wasn't about Chemistry. It wasn't about Mrs. Thompson. It wasn't even about Victor.
Today was about Maria.
And slowly…
Breath by breath…
I'd find my way back to her.