Chapter 4: Her Journal, His Voice

Zara never let anyone touch her journal.

It wasn't pink or glittery. It was black, fabric-bound, the edges slightly frayed. Its pages weren't filled with perfect cursive or Instagram-worthy quotes~~just scribbled thoughts, ripped tape, and scraps of poetry that looked like they were born out of storms.

But on Wednesday, she forgot it.

Left it under her chair after group therapy while rushing out because her mom had called, asking her to pick up groceries. She didn't even realize it was missing until she got home.

And by then, it was too late.

Because Ari had found it.

Because Ari had found it.

~~~

He hadn't meant to snoop. He really hadn't.

After the session ended, he noticed something under Zara's chair. Thought it might be her notebook from the last mindfulness exercise. He picked it up, intending to hand it to Miss Liyana.

But curiosity had always been Ari's downfall.

There was something about the weight of it. The way it felt like it meant something. Not just paper. But... pain. He could feel it even before opening the cover.

Still, he didn't mean to open it.

But one page was already half-folded, like an invitation. Like it wanted to be read.

So he did.

~~~

*"Some people bleed on the inside and still smile wide enough to make others think they're fine."

Ari's throat tightened.

Another page.

*"I wonder if I'm hard to love because I was never taught how to be loved properly."*

He didn't flip any further.

He closed the book like it had burned him.

It had.

~~~

Zara stormed into the next session, hair tied up, eyes stormy. Her boots hit the tile like war drums. The second she saw him, she stopped cold.

"You," she hissed.

"I didn't read it," he said.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie."

"I read two lines. That's it."

Zara snatched the journal from his hands. "It wasn't for you."

"I know."

"Then why?" Ari looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

"Because it felt like you finally spoke. And I wanted to listen."

Zara faltered. "That's not how trust works."

"I'm not asking for trust."

"Then what are you asking for?"

Silence. The air between them buzzed.

He looked down, then up again.

"I'm asking for one chance not to screw everything up."

Zara didn't respond. She didn't need to.

Her eyes softened~~but only for a second.

"I didn't write for you, Ari," she said, voice calm now, but sharp. "I write to breathe. To keep myself from vanishing. You don't get to read the air I need to survive."

His lips parted, but the apology stuck in his throat.

Miss Liyana entered, clapping lightly. "Alright, everyone. Today we'll pair up for empathy exercises. Choose someone who challenges you."

The universe had a sense of humor.

~~~

Ten minutes later, Ari and Zara sat across-legged on the floor, facing each other.

"Maintain eye contact," Miss Liyana said. "And for this round, one of you will say something you've never told anyone. The other will just... listen."

Zara groaned. "Of course."

Ari blinked. "Want me to go first?"

She shrugged. "Fine."

He took a breath. "Okay."

Pause. Deep inhale.

"When I was eight, my brother said crying made me weak. S I stopped crying. For ten years. Not when my dog died. Not even when my mom left. I just stopped."

Zara looked into his eyes. There was no smugness, no sarcasm. Just raw, unfiltered truth.

Her chest ached.

"My turn," she said.

A beat.

"When I was thirteen, I overheard my mom saying I was the 'difficult' one. I haven't really let her hug me since."

Ari didn't look away.

Neither did she.

Their pain sat between them~~not compared, not measured. Just... witnessed.

Something broke quietly in the space between their knees.

Walls crumbling. Fences shaking.

Something else built in its place.

Not trust. Not yet.

But recognition.

~~~

Later that evening, Zara opened her journal and scribbled a new entry.

*"He saw something I didn't want anyone to see. And for once, I didn't want to run"*

And on his phone, in a nameless Notes app folder, Ari typed:

*"I think I found someone who doesn't need to fix me. Just see me."*

Neither shared it.

But thy didn't need to.

Because for the first time in a long time...

They both felt heard.