Nigel said "hii."
That's all.
No heart emoji. No how-are-you. No apologies. No explanations.
Just… "hii."
And I stared at the notification like it held some sacred meaning. Like it would tell me whether or not I was worth anything anymore. Like it would decide if I could breathe again.
I replied.
"hi."
Lowercase. Simple. Careful. Contained.
It took everything in me not to say more. Not to scream. Not to flood the conversation with all the things I hadn't said. All the nights I'd stayed awake. All the tears I'd swallowed back dry because I couldn't even cry anymore.
I wanted to ask where he was. Why he disappeared. Why silence has become his favorite weapon.
But instead, I sat there with my phone in my hand, staring at the word hi as if it was a lifeline.
And then came the storm.
The worst part?
It wasn't even loud.
It was a silent kind of storm—the kind that doesn't tear the room apart but instead destroys everything inside you. Quietly. Slowly. Thoroughly.
I kept refreshing the chat. Waiting to see if he was typing. Waiting to see those three little dots.
They didn't come.
Why text me if you're going to vanish again?
Why open the door only to walk away before I can step through?
I wanted to scream.
But instead, I just sat there.
Still. Small. Almost invisible.
---
There's this thing people don't talk about when it comes to abandonment. It's not just about being left. It's about being left in a space where you were once loved.
It's the memory of warmth in a room that's now cold. It's looking at the same four walls and remembering how they used to echo with laughter, with comfort, with soft glances that made your heart feel seen.
Now it's just emptiness.
And it echoes too.
But this time, it echoes with silence.
---
I don't know how to explain this to anyone.
To the world, I look fine.
To Yaa, I was strong.
To Aurora, I'm a role model.
To Nigel, I'm… I don't even know anymore.
Just a girl he used to love?
Or maybe still does, but not enough?
Or maybe he's tired?
Maybe he needs space?
Maybe it's all in my head?
And that's where the spiral begins.
---
What if he's just busy?
What if he's been trying to hold himself together?
What if he saw my "hii" and smiled?
What if he's going to text again soon?
But also…
What if he didn't miss me?
What if this is guilt-texting?
What if I'm just a soft place to land when he's bored?
What if he's fallen out of love and doesn't know how to say it?
What if I've been forcing this love for months now?
What if the only one holding on is me?
---
I wish I could just stop thinking.
I wish I could silence the thunder in my chest.
But I can't.
Because even though it's just a word, just a "hii," my body treats it like a warning siren. My chest tightens. My hands go cold. My eyes feel dry but my heart? My heart feels soaked.
Why do I do this to myself?
Why do I let people who show me the bare minimum take up so much space in my head?
Why do I call it love?
Why does it still feel like it is?
---
I check the chat again.
Still nothing.
I'm starting to think he texted just to reset the clock. Just to avoid guilt. Just to say, "I didn't leave you completely."
And maybe that's worse than silence.
Because silence is an answer.
But this?
This is a dangling thread I can't help but pull, even though it's unraveling me.
---
I get out of bed and walk to the mirror.
I don't recognize myself.
There's no sparkle in my eyes. My lips look pale. There's a small pimple blooming on my chin from the stress, and my hair—once brushed with so much care—hangs in loose, disinterested strands.
I look like a girl who's waiting for someone to choose her.
I look like a girl who forgot she could choose herself.
---
But I don't feel rage.
I don't feel heartbreak.
I don't even feel sadness.
I feel… tired.
Numb.
Like I've been running in emotional circles for so long that my legs have given out and now I'm just lying in the center of it, unable to move, too exhausted to care.
---
I pick up my journal.
I flip through the pages.
Some days, my handwriting was messy from shaking hands.
Other days, it was too neat, too controlled—an attempt to stabilize myself through ink.
I stop on a page from three hours ago.
"I hope he comes back.
But I'm also scared of what that'll mean for me.
Because I know I'll forgive him too easily.
I always do.
And that's how I lose myself every time."
How did I already know?
Why didn't I stop myself?
Why am I always in the same loop?
---
My phone buzzes.
I hold my breath.
But it's just an app notification.
Not him.
Of course not.
The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes.
---
I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling fan. It spins, slow and steady, like it's mocking me. Like it's the only thing moving in my life.
I wonder if Nigel is lying on his bed too.
I wonder if he thought about me when he texted "hii."
I wonder if he's waiting for me to say something more. To pour my heart out again so he doesn't have to ask.
Because maybe I've trained him that way.
Maybe I've always been the one to love first, to love loud, to love too much.
And he… just received it.
Gently. Quietly. Lazily.
---
I want to hate him for it.
But I don't.
Because he never promised me more.
I just assumed.
I just believed.
I just hoped.
That maybe if I gave enough, stayed long enough, loved hard enough—he'd do the same.
That's the lie I tell myself every time.
And I call it loyalty.
But maybe it's just fear.
Fear that I'm not lovable enough for someone else.
Fear that I won't survive the silence if he stops texting for good.
Fear that if I walk away, I'll be the villain in someone else's story again.
---
The thought makes me sick.
Because why should I be a villain for finally choosing myself?
Why do I always need someone to validate my pain?
Why am I waiting for a message that probably won't even make me feel better when it arrives?
I think back to what Yaa said.
"You've been on defense this entire time.
Don't you itch to be on offense?"
Yeah, I do.
But offense requires courage.
And right now?
I have none.
All I have is this storm.
And a tiny, hollow "hii " from a boy I love too much.
---
I close my eyes and imagine what I would say if I wasn't so scared.
"Nigel, I need more.
Not because I'm needy.
But because I've learned to survive on scraps, and I'm trying to unlearn that.
I need to know if I still matter to you.
Not because I want to force love.
But because I want to stop waiting for something that isn't real anymore.
I need clarity.
Not silence.
Not inconsistency.
Not crumbs.
Because I've been here.
Waiting.
Trying.
Hoping.
And I'm tired.
So tired."
I imagine myself sending it.
And I imagine his reply.
Or worse—no reply.
I open my eyes.
And I do nothing.
Because imagining is safer than actually knowing.
And knowing might shatter me beyond repair.
---
It's strange, how someone can leave you without ever physically walking away.
How a text as simple as "hii" can feel like a whisper in a room that used to be filled with music.
I don't know what I'm holding onto anymore.
Maybe the memory of who we were.
Maybe the illusion of who we could be.
Maybe just the comfort of familiarity.
But I know this storm won't pass until I choose to leave it.
Until I choose myself.
Again.
---
But today?
Today, I'm not strong.
Today, I'm still waiting.
Today, I'm the girl who said "hi" back and hoped it would mean something.
Even though she already knew it wouldn't.