The Weight of the Past

The mysterious figure finally turns back to me, their patience clearly running out. But their voice is softer this time.

"You joke a lot."

I shrug. "It's a coping mechanism."

They nod slowly, like they already knew. Like they've seen what's behind my words.

"Tell me," they say, "when was the first time you felt truly alone?"

The question catches me off guard. My smirk fades. I look away, suddenly feeling the weight pressing against my chest again.

"Does it matter?" I mumble.

"It does."

I swallow hard. The memories creep back in, no matter how much I want to push them away.

"It was… a long time ago."

I see it so clearly—the empty classroom, the whispers, the laughter.

I was sitting alone, staring at my desk, pretending not to hear them.

"Why does he even come to school?"

"No one even likes him."

"Maybe if we ignore him, he'll just disappear."

I clenched my fists, staring at the wood grain on my desk, trying to act like it didn't hurt.

But it did.

It always did.

And when the bell rang, I waited until everyone left before standing up. Because I knew the moment I walked out that door, I'd just be another shadow. Another ghost no one cared about.

I didn't even cry anymore. What was the point? No one would notice.

No one ever noticed.

Except…

"There was one person," I whisper.

The figure listens, silent, waiting.

"She didn't say much, but she saw me." My voice shakes. "She sat next to me at lunch sometimes. She made stupid jokes. She… acted like I was normal, even when I felt like I wasn't."

I exhale shakily. "She saved me, without even knowing it."

The mysterious figure nods. "And do you love her?"

My chest tightens. I squeeze my hands into fists.

"I don't know." My voice cracks. "I just know that without her, I wouldn't be here."

Silence stretches between us.

Then, the figure speaks.

"That is both your power… and your greatest weakness."

I frown, wiping at my face. "What does that even mean?"

They look at me like they already know what's coming next.

"You'll find out soon enough."

The air around us feels heavier now, like my own words have chained me to the ground. I don't know why I said all that. Maybe because this place—this strange, impossible place—feels like a void where secrets don't matter. Where no one can hear me but this one, shadowy figure who somehow understands.

I exhale, but it's shaky. My chest still feels tight.

"Why does it still hurt?" I whisper.

The figure watches me closely, their voice softer now. "Because you never let yourself feel it."

I clench my fists, looking away. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

I don't answer.

Because they're right.

Every time something hurt, I laughed it off. Every time I wanted to cry, I swallowed it down, pretended it wasn't there. Every time I felt like I was breaking, I told myself, "It's fine. You're fine."

But I wasn't.

I'm not.

"She saw me," I whisper again, my voice barely there. "And I don't even think she knew how much that meant. How much I needed it."

My hands shake. My eyes burn.

"I wanted to tell her." My voice cracks. "So many times. But I couldn't. I was too scared."

The figure tilts their head slightly. "Scared of what?"

I press my lips together, my throat closing up.

"That she'd leave too."

And there it is. The truth. The thing I've buried so deep inside me, I almost convinced myself it wasn't real.

I let out a hollow laugh, but my voice is breaking. "People always leave. That's just how it is, right?"

Silence.

My vision blurs, and I hate it. I hate that even now, after everything, I still feel this weak.

"You are not weak."

I flinch. "What?"

The figure steps closer. Their voice isn't cold anymore. It's steady. Solid.

"Feeling pain does not make you weak." They pause. "But pretending you don't… will break you."

I don't realize I'm crying until the first tear falls. I try to wipe it away fast, like it's something I'm not allowed to show. But it's too late.

The dam has already cracked.

And suddenly, I can't hold it back anymore.

I drop my head into my hands, my shoulders shaking, as years of everything I tried to ignore crash down on me all at once.

I don't know how long I sit there, breaking apart in the silence.

But for the first time in a long time…

I don't feel alone.

I sit there, my body heavy with everything I've been holding in for so long. The silence stretches, but it's not empty. It's filled with something I don't recognize—understanding.

Then, I hear her voice. Her voice.

"You know… I once read a story about a warrior."

I freeze. My breath catches.

I lift my head slowly, wiping at my face, trying to see through my blurred vision.

"She wasn't the strongest," she continues. "She wasn't the smartest. She wasn't the fastest. But she kept getting back up."

I blink at her. "And?"

"And that was enough."

I swallow hard. "What happened to her?"

She tilts her head, smiling softly. "She won."

I let out a shaky breath, my hands still trembling. "That's just a story."

"So?" She shrugs. "A story is just another version of the truth."

I look at her, really look at her, and something deep inside me shifts.

"You always do this," I whisper.

She raises an eyebrow. "Do what?"

"Find a way to make me believe in something when I feel like there's nothing left."

She pauses for a second, then grins. "Well, somebody has to do it."

I huff out a weak laugh. "That's not fair."

"Life isn't fair," she says, "but it's still worth fighting for."

The words hit something deep in me, something buried under years of pain and doubt.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

"What if I fail?" I finally ask.

She looks at me like she already knew that question was coming.

"Then you get back up."

I let her words sink in.

She makes it sound so simple.

Maybe it is.

Maybe I've spent so long drowning in my own darkness that I forgot—light doesn't have to be blinding. Sometimes, it's just the quiet warmth of someone reminding you that you're not alone.

I look up at her, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something different.

Hope.

Moral of the Story:

No matter how broken you feel, no matter how many times life knocks you down—keep getting back up.

Because that's enough.