A Silent Battle

(POV- Me)

The air feels heavy tonight. Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's always been this way, and I'm only noticing it now.

I sit on the rooftop, staring at the city lights in the distance. They flicker like stars—so far away, so untouchable. Just like everything else in my life.

"You're thinking too much again."

I don't turn around. I don't need to. Her voice is the only thing that ever feels real anymore.

"How do you know?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

She walks over, sitting beside me, close enough that I can feel her warmth but not close enough to touch.

"Because I know you."

I swallow hard. I don't know what to say to that.

Silence stretches between us, but it's not uncomfortable. It's… different. It feels like she's waiting for me to speak, but she won't force me.

I stare at my hands, my fingers curling into fists. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm drowning, but no one notices."

She exhales, and for a moment, I wonder if she's about to tell me I'm wrong. That I'm not alone. That people care.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she says, "Then I'll notice. Even if no one else does."

My breath catches.

"Why?" I whisper.

She turns to look at me, her eyes holding something I don't understand. Something deep, something real.

"Because you're worth noticing."

I feel something in my chest crack, just a little.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't feel so invisible.

The night is too quiet. It's the kind of silence that suffocates, the kind that makes you hear things you don't want to. Your own thoughts. Your own fears.

I sit on the cold pavement, my back against the wall, staring at nothing. My hands feel numb, my mind even more so.

Then—footsteps.

Soft. Steady. Familiar.

She stops in front of me, but I don't look up. I don't have the strength to.

"You're scaring me."

Her voice is quiet, but it cuts through me like a blade.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "I scare myself too."

She kneels beside me. Close, but not touching. Like she knows I'd break if she did.

"Talk to me."

I shake my head. "I don't know how."

"Then don't." Her voice is calm, but I can hear something beneath it—fear, desperation, something unspoken. "Just stay."

I close my eyes. The weight in my chest is unbearable, like chains pulling me under.

"What if I can't?"

Silence. Then, her voice—so quiet, so certain.

"Then I'll pull you back."

I open my eyes, meeting hers for the first time. There's something in them I've never seen before—a fire that refuses to go out.

"I don't want to lose you." Her voice breaks.

Something inside me cracks.

"Then don't."

I don't know if I'm talking to her or myself.

But for the first time in a long time, I want to believe in something.The wind is cold tonight. It moves through the trees, whispering secrets only the lost can hear. The sky stretches endlessly above me, stars flickering like distant promises—too far, too untouchable.

I sit by the lake, my arms wrapped around my knees, watching the water ripple in the moonlight. The silence isn't empty. It's heavy, pressing against my chest, filling the spaces where words should be.

Then, she's there.

She doesn't speak at first. She just sits beside me, letting the silence settle between us. The kind of silence that says more than words ever could.

"You always come here when you're hurting."

Her voice is soft, almost lost in the night air. I stare at the water, my throat tightening.

"It's quiet here," I whisper. "It doesn't ask me to explain."

She exhales, and I hear something in it—something deep, something raw.

"You don't have to explain."

I finally turn to look at her. The moonlight touches her face, and I see something in her eyes—something unshaken, something that stays.

"Then why do I still feel like no one understands?" My voice cracks.

She doesn't hesitate.

"Because you don't let them."

The words hit me like thunder, loud in the quiet night.

*"I don't—" I stop, my hands clenching. "I don't know how."

She watches me for a long moment. Then, she reaches out—not to hold me, not to pull me up, but to be there.

"Then let me stay. Even if you don't know how to ask."

Something inside me shatters.

I press my face into my hands, and the tears come—silent, aching, real.

She doesn't say anything.

She just stays.

The night is deep, wrapping around us like an old memory. The wind carries the scent of rain, and the trees sway as if whispering stories only they remember. The world feels distant, yet painfully close.

I wipe my face with the sleeve of my hoodie, trying to erase the evidence of my weakness. But she's still here. Watching. Waiting. Not leaving.

"Why do you stay?" My voice is barely a whisper, lost in the night air.

She leans back on her hands, tilting her head toward the sky. "Because I know what it's like to have no one stay."

Her words cut through me, sharp as broken glass. I turn to look at her, really look at her, for the first time tonight.

"You?"

She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Yeah. Me."

Silence stretches between us again, but this time, it feels different. Heavier. Like an unspoken truth has settled in the air.

"You always seem so… okay." I say it like an accusation, because it doesn't make sense. She's always been the strong one. The one who shines when everything else feels dark.

She exhales, her breath shaky. "That's the thing about people like me. We get so good at pretending we're fine… that sometimes, even we forget we're not."

I don't know why, but my chest tightens.

"So why do you help me?" I ask.

She turns to me, and for the first time, I see something I never noticed before—a quiet kind of pain, hidden beneath all the light she carries.

"Because I don't want you to become me."

Her voice cracks at the last word.

I don't know what to say.

So I do the only thing I can.

I stay.

(POV: Me)

The night hasn't changed, but something in the air feels lighter. Maybe it's her presence. Or maybe it's the way she looks at me—not with pity, not with judgment, but like I'm just… me.

I sniff, trying to play it cool. "You know, you're really bad at cheering people up."

She blinks. "Excuse me?"

I shrug, wiping my face. "I thought motivational speeches were supposed to be uplifting. You just trauma-dumped on me."

She gasps dramatically. "I did not! I was sharing wisdom."

"That wasn't wisdom, that was emotional damage."

She throws a small rock at me, and I dodge, laughing for the first time in what feels like forever. It feels… weird. But in a good way.

"See?" she says, crossing her arms. "I made you laugh. My job here is done."

"Oh no, you don't get credit for that." I shake my head. "That was just my body reacting to stress."

She rolls her eyes. "Wow. Imagine trying to be nice and getting disrespected in return. Can't believe this."

We sit in silence for a while, but this time, it's not heavy. It's the kind of quiet that feels comfortable. Like breathing. Like being.

"Hey," she suddenly says.

"Yeah?"

She grins. "Wanna go do something stupid?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Define stupid."

"I dunno. Climb the school rooftop? Steal cafeteria cookies? Sneak into the abandoned arcade? Something to prove you're still alive."

I shake my head, smiling. "And if we get caught?"

She smirks. "Then we run like hell."

Something inside me sparks—something reckless, something alive.

For the first time in forever, I want to say yes.