The girl who waited

She woke up feeling the same emptiness as always. It was a dull, lingering weight that had settled deep inside her chest—a heaviness that never truly left.

The morning light slipped through the curtains, painting her room in soft golden hues, but it felt lifeless. She stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of life outside—the faint chatter of neighbors, the occasional honking of cars, the chirping of birds.

The world was awake. Alive.

And yet, she wasn't a part of it.

She forced herself to sit up, her body moving out of habit rather than will. There was no excitement, no rush to start the day. There hadn't been for a long time. She walked to the mirror, looking at her own reflection as if staring at a stranger.

Dark circles under her eyes. Hollow cheeks. Lips that had forgotten how to smile.

When did she start looking like this?

She reached for the comb on her desk, running it through her tangled hair. It was something small, something simple, but even that felt like an effort. She used to love styling her hair, picking out cute outfits, trying different accessories.

Now, she barely cared.

She heard voices outside her door—her parents talking about their plans for the day. They sounded normal. Like a family. But she wasn't a part of their conversations anymore. She wasn't sure if they even realized that she had stopped speaking at the dinner table, that she barely responded when they asked her questions.

Maybe they had gotten used to her silence.

She wanted to say something. Maybe ask them if they'd like to eat together later. Maybe remind them that she was still here. But as she reached for the door handle, she froze.

What if they said no?

What if they didn't even notice the effort she was making?

What if they looked at her the same way everyone else did—like she was invisible?

Her hand dropped to her side, and she stepped away from the door.

No. It was easier this way.

She sat back on her bed, pulling her knees to her chest. She tried to remember the last time someone had asked her how she was feeling—not just in passing, not as a polite question, but genuinely, truly asking.

No one had.

She picked up her phone, scrolling mindlessly through old messages. Most of them were from months ago. Friends making plans, sending memes, laughing about things that felt like another lifetime ago. She typed out a message, hesitated, and then deleted it before pressing send.

They had moved on.

And maybe… maybe she should too.

But how do you move on when you feel like a shadow of the person you used to be?

She stood up and walked to the window, pressing her forehead against the cold glass. Outside, the world kept turning. People were going places, talking, laughing. They had things to look forward to, people waiting for them, reasons to keep going.

And she… she had nothing.

No one was waiting for her.

No one would notice if she stopped trying.

The thought sat heavy in her mind, whispering doubts she didn't want to hear. But she wasn't ready to let go completely—not yet. There was still a tiny part of her, buried deep beneath the numbness, that wanted to believe things could change.

Maybe, just maybe, one day someone would notice.

Maybe someone would care.

Maybe she wouldn't feel like this forever.

She exhaled slowly, pulling the curtains shut. She didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, she would just keep breathing.

One day at a time.