These past few days, my girlfriend stayed at her parents' house. I thought a change of environment might ease her emotions, but it only made things worse. After returning home, she became even more unstable. The smallest matters could break her down, pushing her toward thoughts of ending her life. Over the phone, I tried again and again to comfort her, but nothing worked. Her voice would shift—sometimes sharp, sometimes hollow—as if some unseen force was driving her into madness.
Then, tonight, disaster struck. She suddenly drove onto the highway, accelerating to 180 kilometers per hour. Her mother called me, sobbing, pleading, "Please, you must calm her down, don't let anything happen to her!" My heart froze, but I forced myself to stay calm. I ended the call, jumped into my car, and sped onto the road. My pulse pounded violently as I pressed the accelerator, but she was still eighty kilometers away—an unbearable distance.
I called her again and again, but each attempt was rejected. Every abrupt end of the ringtone felt like a blade tearing across my chest. My hands were drenched in sweat as the headlights streaked past like ghosts. Then came another call: her car had crashed into the guardrail, the rear wheel catching fire. In that instant, my breath stopped, terror hollowing me out.
When I finally arrived, the scene was like a nightmare. Her car was half engulfed in flames, smoke billowing, fire devouring metal. She refused to open the door, clutching the steering wheel, her eyes blank, as though she had resolved to end everything in the blaze. I screamed her name until my voice broke, but she did not move. Then, the firefighters arrived. They smashed the window, dragged her out of the choking smoke. She was already unconscious, her face pale, her breathing shallow.
The ambulance rushed her to the hospital. I followed closely, my heart lodged in my throat. Fortunately, the doctor said the smoke inhalation wasn't severe. Only then did my tears nearly spill, relief trembling through me. We returned home later, but she still seemed lost, her eyes empty, stripped of any human warmth. She lay beside me, her body present, yet her spirit absent. I sat by the bed, watching over her, my heart tangled in confusion, fear, and sorrow, unable to close my eyes.
Deep in the night, she suddenly turned, holding me tightly. In her gaze, for a fleeting moment, I saw light—the sense that she had come back. Yet her memories of the night were shattered, fragmented, like a dream slipping away. She herself couldn't explain what had happened.
I stared at her, heavy with unease. What force had taken hold of her? Why had her emotions collapsed so completely in just a few days? I could not understand. The house was silent, the night endless, and though she breathed softly beside me, sleep never came to me.
Somewhere in my heart, a voice whispered—
This is only the beginning.