"Sometimes the loudest part of you is the part that no one hears."
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She thought she would a good sleep once in a while but it's not true. The morning light felt too sharp. It leaked through the cracks of Aira's blinds, slicing across her desk like an unwanted truth. She hadn't slept. Not really. She had closed her eyes, but her mind kept running laps.
" What if they hate me?
What if I'm the reason things fell apart?
What if Ray gets tired of me too?
What if I'm just exhausting to be around? "
Aira stared at the ceiling, feeling like gravity was pressing harder today. Everything hurt in ways she couldn't name. Not the physical kind of hurt—but the kind that whispered:
No one would notice if you stayed in bed forever.
She knew she had to talk to Hana. It had been building for weeks now—quiet silences, sidelong glances, that group chat she hadn't been added to. The others were still polite. Still… fine. But Hana? Hana had once been her closest anchor. And now it felt like standing next to her was like standing on cracking ice.
Aira brushed her hair into a loose ponytail. Looked into the mirror. She didn't recognize herself. Eyes rimmed red. Skin dull. Smile missing.
"You're being dramatic," she whispered aloud.
Then, instantly, she flinched.
Why did I say that to myself?
The confrontation was clumsy from the beginning. They stood under the large tree behind the literature building—Hana scrolling on her phone, Aira picking at the sleeve of her cardigan.
Aira's voice wavered. "Can we… talk?"
Hana didn't look up right away. When she finally did, her face was unreadable. "Sure. What's up?"
Aira's stomach twisted. Her brain screamed Don't say anything, but her heart pushed the words out.
"I feel like….something's changed between us."
Hana blinked. "What do you mean?"
"You don't really talk to me anymore. I… I found out there's a new group chat. You didn't include me."
Hana's lips pressed together, then parted in a half-sigh, half-scoff.
"Oh, Aira. It's not that deep."
Her chest tightened.
"Maybe you're just being too sensitive," Hana said, shrugging. "You've been kind of distant lately. I figured you needed space."
"I needed someone to ask if I was okay," Aira replied, more softly than she meant to.
Hana looked uncomfortable. "Look, I don't have the energy to babysit everyone's emotions, okay? We all go through stuff."
Aira swallowed hard. "I'm not asking you to babysit me. I just… I thought we were friends."
"We are," Hana said, but her voice lacked weight. "But!, I can't be responsible for how you feel all the time."
Aira stood frozen after Hana walked away. The words too sensitive echoed like poison in her ears.
" Too much.
Too needy.
Too dramatic.
Too broken. "
The thoughts chased her in circles until they devoured her.
She didn't go to class. She didn't text Ray. She didn't eat.
Just curled under the blanket, numb, letting the hours melt into silence.
"I replay every word I said and wish I said none of them.
I wonder if I imagined it all.
Maybe I do expect too much.
Maybe the problem is me."
"My brain is a loop of doubt. I overthink everything.
I ask for love with a whisper but punish myself when no one hears it."
The next few days passed in shadows. Aira moved through them like a ghost. She showered because she had to. Brushed her teeth because the bitterness in her mouth became unbearable. But most of the time, she stared at her phone, convincing herself not to message anyone.
"They don't care."
"They're better off without you."
"You make things heavy."
"You ruin moments."
"You're not worth the effort."
She believed every single one.
Ray knocked on her door on Wednesday. She didn't answer. He left a note under the door.
"Still here. Not leaving.
–Ray."
That made her cry. Not because she felt comforted, but because she didn't feel she deserved that kind of patience.
That night, as she lay in bed, eyes wide open at 2:43 a.m., the thought returned again. The one she hated the most.
What—what if… I …just disappeared?
No big goodbye. No note. Just… gone. Would they even notice?
She sat up, heart racing. Not because she wanted to die. She didn't.
She just didn't want to feel like this anymore.
The next day, she went to the university clinic. Quietly. Alone. Told the counselor about everything. About Mira. About Hana. About the thoughts that crept in when she was alone. The counselor didn't flinch. Didn't scold.
Just nodded. Listened. Asked her to breathe with her.
It was the first time Aira cried in front of someone and didn't feel ashamed.
Afterward, Aira texted Ray.
[ AIRA: ]
I went to counseling.
Didn't fix me. But it helped.
[ RAY: ]
That's more than enough.
I'm proud of you.
[ AIRA: ]
Can I be honest?
[ RAY: ]
Always.
[ AIRA: ]
I keep thinking everyone's going to leave me eventually.
That if I say one wrong thing, feel too much, ask for too much… they'll just walk away.
Like Mira did. Like Hana's doing.
I hate my brain.
[ RAY: ]
You don't have to hate yourself for how deeply you feel.
Your brain is loud, but it's not your enemy.
It's scared. It's trying to protect you.
But you're safe now.
You're allowed to heal.
Aira stared at the screen, her throat tight. Then she wrote back:
[ AIRA: ]
Thank you for staying.
[ RAY: ]
Thank you for trying. That's more than most people do.
That night, Just like usual, her Late-Night Journal Entry:
"I've spent years believing I was too much.
But maybe what I needed wasn't less emotion—
but more understanding."
"I overthink because I care.
I fall apart because I've held myself together too long.
But today, I chose to speak.
And maybe that means tomorrow, I'll choose to stay."
Aira looked out her window, the campus lights blinking like distant stars. The world hadn't changed. But something inside her had. Not a full healing. Not a happy ending.
But a beginning.