The Lies We Tell Ourselves

The next morning crept in like a whisper, muted and soft, slipping through the blinds and casting weak light across my room. I woke slowly, my body still heavy with the exhaustion of the night before. The old black book lay where I had left it, near the foot of my bed, its pages slightly crinkled from the weight of me tossing and turning.

My phone, silent for now, rested on the edge of the desk. I stared at it for a long moment, the remnants of last night's messages still burning in the back of my mind. I could already feel the tension building, the familiar knot in my stomach twisting tighter with every thought of my father.

Shoving the thoughts aside, I sat up and rubbed my eyes, taking in the mess of my room. It was an organized chaos I knew all too well—books stacked haphazardly, papers scattered across my desk, notebooks open to half-finished pages of notes. It felt like a reflection of my mind—disjointed, cluttered, and perpetually restless.

I dressed quickly, throwing on my usual hoodie and jeans, the soft fabric a comfort as i slipped into it. The cool air from outside crept in through the cracks of the old windows, and I tugged on the hoodie tighter around myself. Fall had settled in, and with it, a certain melancholy that seemed to echo through the campus.

I hesitated at my desk, my eyes lingering on the phone once again. No new messages. I hadn't heard anything more from my father since last night, and though a part of me was relieved, I knew it was only temporary. His words had a way of seeping into my thoughts, long after they had been spoken, clinging to me like shadows.

I tucked the phone into my pocket and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I stepped out into the hallway. The dorm was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of students rushing to their early morning classes. I kept my head down as I made my way through the building, avoiding eye contact with the few people I passed. I wasn't in the mood for conversation today—not that I ever was.

As I stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit my face, and I breathed it in, feeling the coolness settle deep in my lungs. It was the kind of air that reminded me of home, though I quickly pushed that thought aside. Home was a place I'd long stopped thinking about, a place I had escaped. At least, physically.

The campus stretched out before me, vast and still, the old stone buildings bathed in the soft glow of early morning light. Hawthorne College had always felt like a place apart from reality, a bubble of academia and tradition that somehow seemed untouched by the outside world. The ivy-covered walls and cobblestone pathways gave it a kind of timelessness, as though it had existed for centuries and would continue to exist long after I was gone.

My footsteps were slow, deliberate, as I crossed the courtyard in front of the library, my mind drifting. The whispers about Isabella Monroe had quieted some, but not entirely. People still spoke her name, sometimes in passing, other times in hushed conversations that trailed off when I came near.

I didn't know why I cared, but the missing girl was like a loose thread I couldn't help but pull at. I didn't want to get involved. I wasn't the kind of person who got involved in other people's lives. But something about the whole situation gnawed at me, an itch I couldn't quite scratch.

As I passed by the library, I slowed, my gaze flicking toward the large glass doors. A few students milled about inside, their heads bent over books and laptops, lost in their own worlds. The library was always busy in the mornings, a quiet refuge for those who preferred solitude over the hustle and noise of the campus. I usually counted myself among them, but today, I wasn't in the mood for the silence the library offered

I continued on, my path taking her toward the lecture hall where my literature class would be starting soon. The professor's drowning lectures usually bored me, but today, I welcomed the distraction. Anything to keep my mind from spiraling back to my father, to the messages that still lingered in the back of my mind, to Isabella.

The lecture hall was half-full when I arrived, and as always, I took my seat in the back row. I liked it here, where I could observe without being noticed, where I could disappear into the background. The familiar murmur of students filled the room, their conversations blending into a dull hum as the professor entered and began setting up for the lecture.

I leaned back in her chair, pulling my notebook from my bag, though I knew I wouldn't take many notes today. my mind was elsewhere, as it often was. The sound of the professor's voice faded into the background as my thoughts drifted, circling around the same nagging feeling I couldn't shake.

Isabella Monroe. Why was her name still there, lingering in my mind like a song I couldn't forget? I hadn't known the girl, not really. I had seen her in passing, maybe exchanged a few words in class, but that was it. And yet, the thought of her disappearance wouldn't leave me alone.

As the professor lectured on modern literary movements, I found herself staring out the window, watching as the leaves swirled in the autumn breeze. The outside world felt distant, almost unreal, as though it existed on a different plane entirely. Hawthorne was like that sometimes—detached from reality, suspended in its own little bubble of academia and tradition.

But even in this bubble, things happened. People went missing. People like Isabella Monroe.

By the time the lecture ended, my notebook remained mostly blank, save for a few scribbled lines of half-hearted notes. I packed up my things and made my way out of the lecture hall, my mind still foggy with the same thoughts that had plagued me all day.

The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the campus as I made my way back to my dorm. I walked slowly, my feet dragging slightly as the exhaustion of the day began to settle in. The weight of it all—the lingering thoughts of my father, of Isabella—pressed down on me, heavier than I wanted to admit.

By the time I reached my room, the sky had darkened, and the soft glow of my desk lamp was the only light in the space. I dropped my bag onto the floor and collapsed onto the bed, my body sinking into the mattress as my mind continued to race.

I didn't want to think about her father. I didn't want to think about the text messages that still haunted me from the night before. But most of all, I didn't want to think about Isabella Monroe—the girl who had vanished, leaving nothing but whispers in her wake.

I laid there for a long time, my eyes half-closed as the room darkened around me. The night outside was quiet, the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of voices from the courtyard below barely audible. But inside, my mind refused to rest.

Eventually, I pulled herself up, grabbing the old black book from the foot of my bed and flipping it open. The words blurred slightly in the dim light, but I read them anyway, letting the familiar rhythm of the sentences lull me into a kind of temporary peace.

I would get through this. I always did. But tonight, the weight of it all felt heavier, more suffocating than usual. And though I tried to focus on the pages in front of me, my thoughts kept drifting, circling back to the same unanswerable questions.

Where had Isabella gone? And why couldn't I stop thinking about her?

I flipped through the pages of the old book, my mind drifting in and out of focus. The words blurred as my thoughts pulled me away from the story, back to the heavy ache that settled in my chest. I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting there when a faint knock on my door brought me back to reality.

I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the dim light of my desk lamp. The knock came again, this time more hesitant, as though the person on the other side wasn't sure if they should be knocking at all.

I frowned. I rarely got visitors. Most people didn't even know I lived here, or at least, they acted like they didn't. I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to answer or pretend I wasn't there. But curiosity got the better of me.

I stood up and walked to the door, cracking it open just enough to see who was on the other side. A girl stood there, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, her hands nervously fiddling with the strap of her bag.

I didn't recognize her. She was petite, with dark brown hair that curled slightly at the ends, framing her face. Her expression was a mix of uncertainty and determination, as if she had psyched herself up for this moment and was now regretting it.

"Uh, hi," the girl said, her voice soft but clear. "I'm sorry to bother you. I just… I've seen you around, and I thought I'd introduce myself."

I raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond. I didn't know this girl. Why would she want to talk to me?

The girl seemed to sense my hesitation and quickly added, "I'm Olivia. I've seen you in the library a few times and… around campus. You're always by yourself, and I just thought maybe—"

"Maybe what?" I cut in, my tone sharper than I intended.

Olivia winced slightly but didn't back down. "Maybe you'd like someone to talk to. You know, if you ever wanted to. You just seem… I don't know… like you keep to yourself a lot."

I felt a prickle of irritation, though I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because Olivia had hit a little too close to home. Maybe it was because I wasn't used to people noticing me, let alone reaching out to me. Or maybe it was just the lingering weight of my father's words still gnawing at me from the night before.

"I'm fine," I said, my voice was cold. "Thanks, but I don't need company."

Olivia didn't move. She stood there, her eyes searching my face as if looking for something I couldn't quite name. "I know we don't know each other," she said quietly, "but I've been where you are. Being alone all the time… it gets heavy after a while. You don't have to do it alone."

my fingers tightened around the edge of the door. I didn't want to hear this. I didn't want someone coming into my space, prying open the cracks I kept carefully hidden.

"I don't need help," I said, more firmly this time. "I'm used to being on my own."

"I get that," Olivia replied, her voice still soft but steady. "But just so you know, I'm around. If you ever want to talk or… anything."

For a moment, there was silence between them. my instinct was to shut the door, to retreat back into the safety of my solitude. But something stopped me—maybe it was the quiet sincerity in Olivia's voice, or the fact that, despite my own resistance, a small part of me was curious about this girl who had noticed me when no one else did.

I didn't know how to respond. My throat felt tight, my mind a mess of conflicting thoughts. So, I did what I always did—I pushed people away.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," I said, my tone final.

Olivia looked at me for another long moment before nodding. "Okay," she said softly. "I won't bother you again."

She turned to leave, her footsteps echoing faintly in the hallway as she walked away. I watched her go, my heart pounding for reasons I couldn't fully understand.

I closed the door slowly, leaning against it as the silence of my room enveloped me once more. My chest felt tight, a strange mix of guilt and frustration swirling inside me. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for someone to notice me, to reach out when I didn't want them to. But now that it has happened, I couldn't seem to shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as unwelcome as I thought.

Shaking my head, I pushed myself away from the door and sank back onto my bed. I grabbed the old black book, flipping it open again, though my mind was no longer on the words in front of me. Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to Olivia, to the quiet way she had spoken, the way she had noticed me when no one else had.

I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I knew one thing—being noticed wasn't something I was used to. And now that someone has, I wasn't sure how to feel about it.

The night stretched on, and though I tried to lose herself in the pages of the book, the encounter with Olivia lingered, unsettling in its simplicity. It was nothing, really—just a brief conversation. But for some reason, it had left a crack in the walls I had built around herself.

And that crack, small as it was, felt dangerous.

I lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling, the old black book forgotten in my lap. The words Olivia had spoken kept replaying in my mind, uninvited and persistent.

"I've been where you are."

I tried to brush it off. People said things like that all the time. They assumed they understood me, assumed they could relate. But Olivia hadn't seemed like she was just saying it to be polite. There was something behind her words—something real.

I shook my head. I didn't want to think about this. I didn't want to care that some girl I barely knew had taken the time to notice me. It didn't matter. I was fine. i'd always been fine on my own.

Still, the room felt heavier than usual, the silence more oppressive. I sat up, tossing the book onto my nightstand, and stood. Maybe a walk would clear my head.

Throwing on my hoodie, I grabbed my keys and slipped out of the dorm room. The hallway was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of voices or the soft thud of doors closing. It was late now, and most people had already retreated to their rooms for the night.

Outside, the cool night air hit my face, clearing away some of the fog in my mind. The campus was bathed in soft moonlight, the old stone buildings casting long shadows across the courtyard. My footsteps echoed softly against the cobblestones as I wandered, not really thinking about where I was going.

My path eventually led me to the same library courtyard where i'd stood the night before, watching the shadows stretch across the ground. The campus felt eerie in the late hours, the kind of quiet that made every small sound seem louder, every movement feel more significant.

I sat down on one of the old stone benches near the center of the courtyard, my gaze drifting across the empty space. It was peaceful here, in a way that didn't feel stifling. I could breathe, think. The oppressive weight of my dorm room had lifted, though Olivia's words still hung in the back of my mind like a song I couldn't forget.

The wind stirred the leaves on the ground, creating soft rustling sounds that filled the silence. I pulled my hoodie tighter around me, closing my eyes and letting the cool air wash over me. I wished she could turn my mind off—just for a while.

But of course, it wasn't that easy.

my phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling my out of the moment. I frowned, pulling it out to check the screen. It wasn't my father this time, but an unfamiliar number.

"Are you okay?"

I stared at the message, confusion knotting in my stomach. Who would send this? For a moment, I wondered if it was Olivia, but I had no reason to think the girl had my number. The text felt… strange. Random.

I typed back quickly, my fingers moving with more irritation than concern.

"Who is this?"

I waited, my eyes fixed on the screen, but no reply came. After a few minutes, I locked the phone and shoved it back into my pocket. Whatever it was, it wasn't important.

But the small prickle of unease didn't go away.

The campus was still quiet around me, the wind picking up just enough to make the branches sway. I stood, my legs stiff from sitting for too long, and decided to head back to the dorm. I could feel the tiredness settling in, and as much as I tried to shake it off, the weight of my sleepless nights was starting to catch up with me.

I walked slowly, my mind circling back to that message. Was it just some prank? A wrong number? It wasn't unusual for random texts to show up on my phone—I often ignored them. But something about this one nagged at me.

Back in the dorm, I slipped into my room, locking the door behind me. The familiar shadows greeted me as I crossed the small space and collapsed onto my bed. I didn't bother to undress or even pull the covers up. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling once again, my mind restless despite my exhaustion.

Olivia's words, the mysterious text—they both swirled together in my mind, creating a strange, unsettling feeling I couldn't shake.

Maybe I should've responded differently to Olivia. Maybe I should've been more open, less defensive. But that wasn't me. I wasn't the kind of person who let people in easily. Not anymore.

My father's texts still sat in the back of her mind like a wound that hadn't fully healed. His words, his anger, had been a constant in her life for so long that she had built her walls high and thick. Letting someone like Olivia in, even just a little, felt dangerous.

But Olivia had noticed me. And the strange thing was, I couldn't stop thinking about that. I couldn't stop wondering why.

My phone buzzed again, the sound sharp in the quiet room. I grabbed it, my heart skipping a beat. Another text from the same number.

"Just checking in."

my frown deepened. This wasn't the wrong number. Whoever knew it knew me, or at least, knew something about me. But who? And why were they sending these messages now, of all times?

I typed a quick response, my fingers tapping out the words before I could second-guess myself.

"I don't know who you are, but stop texting me."

I hit send, my pulse quickening as I waited for a reply. This time, it didn't take long.

"Okay. Sorry to bother you."

I stared at the screen, a chill creeping down my spine. There was something unnerving about the simplicity of the reply. No explanation. No name. Just… an apology.

I locked the phone again, tossing it onto my nightstand. I wasn't going to think about this anymore. It was probably just some bored student messing with me. That was all. There was no reason to let it get under my skin.

But as I lay there, the quiet of the night pressing in around me, I couldn't help but feel like there was something more to this. Something I wasn't seeing.

My thoughts drifted once again to Isabella Monroe, the girl who had vanished without a trace. Was there a connection? Or was it just my imagination running wild, fueled by too many sleepless nights and the unsettling weight of Olivia's words?

I didn't know. But I did know one thing—Hawthorne College was full of secrets. And whether I wanted to or not, I had a feeling I was about to find myself tangled in them.