The Hollow Echo

The next few days blurred into one. Each morning felt like dragging myself through a heavy fog, the kind that clings to your skin and makes it hard to breathe. The routine of school, once just boring, now felt suffocating. Every hallway seemed to echo with the absence of Maya. The more I tried to distract myself, the more she slipped into my thoughts.

Lucas stuck close, but I could tell he was at a loss. He'd ask me to hang out, to grab a burger after school or watch a movie at his place, but I always turned him down. I wasn't ready to pretend that everything was okay. The truth was, I didn't know how to move forward. How do you keep going when it feels like the ground beneath your feet has crumbled away?

By Thursday, even the teachers were starting to notice. Mr. Thompson, my history teacher, stopped me after class that day, his brow furrowed with concern. "Everything alright, Jonah?" he asked, his voice kind but probing.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumbled, trying to sidestep him. The last thing I wanted was another conversation about my feelings, especially with a teacher. But he wasn't so easily swayed.

"You don't seem like yourself lately," he continued. "If you ever need to talk—"

"I'm fine," I repeated, sharper this time. I could feel the tightness in my chest building, like a balloon about to pop. I couldn't stand the pity, the constant reminders that something was wrong. "Just… busy with stuff."

Mr. Thompson hesitated, then nodded, his expression softening. "Alright. Just know the door's open if you change your mind."

I muttered a quick thanks and hurried out of the room, my thoughts swirling. Everyone seemed to expect me to fall apart, and maybe I already had. But I was trying to keep it together, to push the pain down so deep that no one could see it.

It wasn't working.

---

By the time Friday rolled around, I was mentally checked out. The weekend was almost here, but instead of the usual relief, I felt nothing but dread. More time to be alone with my thoughts. More time to think about Maya.

I was at my locker, half-heartedly shoving books into my backpack, when I heard her voice. My heart stopped, and for a second, I thought maybe I was imagining it. But when I turned, there she was, standing down the hall with a group of friends, laughing at something one of them had said.

She looked… happy. Like the past few days hadn't affected her at all. Like she hadn't just ripped my heart out and walked away without a second thought.

I froze, my chest tightening painfully. I wanted to go to her, to ask her how she could act like everything was fine, like I hadn't meant anything to her at all. But I knew it would just make things worse. What was the point? She had moved on, and I was still stuck, trying to figure out how to breathe without her.

Lucas appeared at my side, his expression shifting when he saw where I was looking. "You okay?"

I forced myself to tear my gaze away from her, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Yeah," I lied. "Let's just go."

We headed outside, the crisp autumn air hitting my face like a slap. Lucas tried to fill the silence with small talk, but I barely heard him. My mind was still in that hallway, still with her.

---

That night, the house was quiet. My mom had gone out with some friends, and it was just me and the echoing silence. I wandered into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge, but nothing looked appealing. My stomach had been in knots for days, and the thought of food only made it worse.

I ended up grabbing a can of soda and heading back to my room. The house felt emptier than usual, the silence pressing in on me from all sides. I turned on some music, but even that didn't help. Every song seemed to remind me of her.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling. The moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting faint shadows on the walls. I thought about texting Lucas, asking if he wanted to come over, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. He'd try to cheer me up, maybe suggest we play video games or something, but none of it would fix the hollow feeling in my chest.

My phone buzzed, the sudden vibration startling me. I grabbed it, my heart skipping a beat as I saw her name flash on the screen.

Maya.

For a second, I just stared at it, not sure what to do. She hadn't texted me since that day. Why now? My pulse quickened, my mind racing through possibilities. Maybe she had changed her mind. Maybe she wanted to talk, to explain why she'd ended things so suddenly.

Maybe… she missed me.

I hesitated, then unlocked the phone and opened the message.

"Hey."

Just one word. No explanation, no apology. Just… "Hey."

I stared at the screen, my emotions twisting into something I couldn't untangle. Part of me wanted to respond, to ask her why she'd texted me, why she was reaching out now. But another part of me—the part that was still angry, still hurting—wanted to throw the phone across the room.

Instead, I typed out a simple response: "Hey."

I watched the screen, waiting for the typing bubbles to appear, but nothing came. Minutes passed, and still nothing. My mind raced, wondering if she had changed her mind about texting me. Why bother saying anything at all?

The minutes dragged on, and I finally tossed the phone onto the bed, frustration bubbling up inside me. It was like she still had a hold on me, even after everything. One word from her, and I was back to square one, wondering what I had done wrong.

I got up, pacing the room, my thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. Why had she reached out? What did she want? Every possibility felt like a punch to the gut. Did she just want to be friends? Did she miss me, or was she just checking in to ease her guilt?

The more I thought about it, the more the anger started to build. How could she do this? How could she just drop me like I didn't matter, and then pop back into my life like nothing had happened?

The phone buzzed again, and I snatched it up, my heart racing.

"Can we talk?"

Those three words sent my mind spinning. What did she want to talk about? Did she want to explain? Apologize? Or was she just trying to clear her conscience?

I stared at the message for a long time, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to say yes, to hear her out, to give her a chance to explain. But another part of me—the part that was still raw and aching—wanted to tell her no, to shut her out like she had shut me out.

I typed out a response, my hands trembling. "What do you want to talk about?"

The reply came almost instantly.

"Can we meet tomorrow? In person."

I stared at the message, my thoughts racing. Meeting in person felt like a step I wasn't ready for, like opening a door I had just barely managed to close.

But curiosity gnawed at me. I wanted to know what she had to say. I wanted answers.

After a long moment, I typed out a single word.

"Okay."

---

That night, I barely slept. My mind kept replaying the message, running through every possible scenario. What would she say? What did she want? Part of me hoped she would say she'd made a mistake, that she still had feelings for me. But another part of me—the part that was still trying to protect itself—knew that wasn't likely.

The next morning, I felt like I was moving through molasses, every step heavy with anticipation. I told Lucas about the message, about the meeting, and he raised an eyebrow but didn't say much. I could tell he had his doubts, but he didn't try to stop me.

When the afternoon finally came, I headed to the park where we'd agreed to meet. The sky was overcast, gray clouds hanging low, like the weather was reflecting my mood. I found a bench near the pond and sat down, my heart pounding in my chest.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity. I kept glancing around, half-expecting her to back out, to change her mind.

But then, I saw her.

Maya.

She walked toward me, her hands shoved in her pockets, her expression unreadable. As she got closer, my pulse quickened, the air around me feeling suddenly too thick.

When she finally reached me, she hesitated for a moment, then sat down next to me on the bench. For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, she spoke.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the sound of the wind rustling through the trees. "I never meant to hurt you."

The words hung in the air, but they didn't feel like enough. They didn't explain anything.

I turned to her, searching her face for answers. "Then why did you?"

Maya looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just… I felt like I was losing myself. Like I couldn't breathe. And I didn't know how to fix it."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.