"I Am the Problem"

Being horrified, I ran away from there, my breath ragged and my heart pounding like a war drum. My legs moved on their own, desperate to put distance between me and that terrifying sight.

Then—bam! I collided into someone, the impact jolting me backward.

I looked up, my vision still slightly blurred with fear. Standing before me was my English professor, her sharp eyes scanning me with a hint of concern.

"Watch where you're going, dear," she said, adjusting the stack of books in her arms.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. My hands were trembling. Could she see it? Could she sense the dread clinging to me like a second skin?

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you alright?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. How could I explain? How could I tell her what I had just witnessed?

She tilted her head, waiting for an answer.

I forced a shaky nod, whispering, "I'm fine, Professor."

But was I really?

I muttered a quick apology and moved away. My head was spinning, throbbing from everything that had happened. It was difficult to even drag myself forward. My legs felt weak, my vision blurred.

I couldn't take it anymore.

Skipping the rest of my classes, I went straight home. The moment I entered my room, I collapsed onto my bed, exhaustion weighing down on me like a heavy blanket.

Sleep consumed me instantly.

RING! RING!

The sharp ringing of my phone jolted me awake. Disoriented, I grabbed my phone and squinted at the screen—"Wrong Number."

I frowned and ignored it, tossing my phone aside. But when my eyes landed on the clock, my stomach dropped.

8 AM.

Oh, shit.

I had fallen asleep at 2 PM yesterday. Did I seriously oversleep for 18 hours?!

A wave of relief washed over me—thank God my mom wasn't home, or she would have killed me for this.

Maybe I was just too exhausted…

Then, suddenly, a horrifying thought struck me.

James.

James left for Germany… forever.

I bolted upright, my heart hammering against my ribs. I had planned to talk to him, to explain everything—maybe he would have understood. Maybe I could have stopped him.

Frantically, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number.

No answer.

I redialed. Again, nothing.

"UGH! Did you block me, James?! Or is your damn phone on airplane mode?"

Panic surged through me. I needed to get to the airport.

I sprang from my bed, not even noticing I was still in yesterday's clothes, my face unwashed, and my bunny slippers still on. Without a second thought, I grabbed my car keys and rushed outside.

I sped through the streets, my hands trembling against the steering wheel, cursing at every slow driver in my way.

Then—traffic.

A massive, never-ending wall of cars.

"No, no, no, NO!" I slammed my hands against the wheel, desperation clawing at my throat.

Without hesitation, I swerved into another lane, ignoring every traffic rule in existence. Speeding. Taking the wrong side. Nothing mattered.

I couldn't lose someone important again.

"Calm down, Ama. He hasn't left yet. You'll get there in time. You'll explain everything. He'll listen to you. He always listened to you—his Koala."

The nickname.

He gave me that nickname because of my sleeping habits.

He cared. He always cared.

"He won't leave me," I whispered, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

I kept repeating those words, like a desperate prayer.

Finally, I reached the airport.

Without even parking my car, I ran inside, heart pounding, lungs burning. I pushed past people, rushing straight to the information desk.

Panting, I blurted out, "Excuse me! The flight to Germany—the one that was supposed to leave at 8 AM—has it left?"

The woman at the desk gave me a weird look—probably because I looked like a mess.

Then, with a straight face, she nodded. "Yes, ma'am. The flight has already left."

My breath hitched.

No.

She had to be mistaken.

"Are you sure? Can you check again?" My voice wavered with desperate hope.

The woman sighed. "I'm 100% sure, ma'am. The flight departed on time."

The last thread of hope snapped inside me.

I had lost him.

Again.

A painful smile curled on my lips. Ama Watson, you really are cursed, aren't you?

No one stays.

No matter how hard they try, they either end up dead like Kayol or pushed away like James.

Mark was right.

I am the problem.

I turned on my heel, numb and empty, and walked out.

The drive home was a blur.

When I finally reached my house, I went straight to the bathroom, freshened up mechanically, and sat on my bed.

My stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten for 24 hours.

But I didn't care.

I just sat there, staring out the window, letting the silence consume me.

I didn't want anyone.

I didn't want to talk.

I didn't want to feel.

I was trapped—drowning in guilt.