"Just because it stopped bleeding doesn't mean it doesn't still ache."
————————————————————
Counseling wasn't magic.
There were no glowing answers. No instant relief. Just soft questions, quiet rooms, and a gentle voice asking Aira things she didn't know how to answer yet.
"How do you feel when you're around your friends?"
"Like I'm watching myself from the outside."
"What would happen if you said no?"
"They'd leave."
"And if they did?"
"…Then maybe they were never really here."
That answer sat heavy in the space between them. But her therapist only nodded, like she was proud Aira said it out loud.
The next week, Aira did something terrifying.
She told Hana she couldn't come to the group hangout. "I'm taking time for myself."
Hana's reply was dry. "Since when are you a self-care guru?"
Aira didn't reply. Not because she was angry. But because she didn't need to.
She sat in her favorite café with a warm drink and her journal, watching people pass by the window. She wrote things she never thought she'd say.
"I don't have to be liked by everyone to be worthy."
"I'm not selfish for protecting my peace."
"Maybe I'm not hard to love—maybe I was just giving my heart to people with scissors."
Then, it happened.
A message.
A name she hadn't seen in over a year.
Mira.
[ MIRA: ]
hey.
it's been a while.
i heard you're doing okay now.
just wanted to say i'm sorry.
for everything.
Aira stared at the screen for a long time. Her fingers trembled.
The message was short, lowercase, soft. Like a feather hiding a blade.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She remembered Mira's voice. Her perfume. Her arms around Aira's shoulders when she cried after exams. The way she said, "You're mine,"… like it was a promise.
But then, she remembered the possessiveness. The guilt-tripping. The silent treatment when Aira made new friends. The day Mira accused her of "abandoning" her just because Aira went out without her.
She remembered staying up at night, wondering if she was the problem. If she wasn't loyal enough. If she deserved the cold shoulder.
"You're nothing without me," Mira once said.
"You'd be lost if I left."
Aira had believed it.
And yet—some twisted part of her missed her.
Ray noticed she was quieter than usual when they met for a casual walk on campus. They didn't always talk. Sometimes they just wandered together, existing beside one another.
But today, Aira's silence felt louder.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She hesitated, then showed him the message.
Ray read it. Handed the phone back.
"You don't have to answer," he said.
"But what if she's changed?" Aira whispered.
Ray paused. "AndWhat if she hasn't?"
Aira looked away. "I just… I don't know who I am without the people who hurt me. They've been part of me for so long."
Ray nodded. "I get it. Sometimes, we make a home out of pain. Doesn't mean we have to stay there."
That night, Aira didn't respond to Mira. She opened a new page in her journal instead.
"I don't forgive you yet.
Maybe one day.
But today…I choose myself."
"Healing isn't a straight line.
Some days, I still miss the people who broke me.
But that doesn't mean I want them back.
It just means I'm still learning to live without pain as my compass."
The next day, she walked past Hana in the hallway. Hana didn't look at her.
Aira didn't shrink.
She didn't smile.
She didn't apologize.
She kept walking.
And for the first time, the silence felt like freedom—not punishment.