The girl who waited

The world outside continued moving, but inside her room, time stood still.

She had lost track of how many days had passed like this—waking up, existing, and then waiting for sleep to take her away again. It was a strange kind of exhaustion, one that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with feeling invisible.

Her phone buzzed on the desk.

She glanced at it, debating whether to check it or ignore it like she usually did. But curiosity won.

It was a message from an old friend.

"Hey, it's been a while. Are you okay?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Should she say the truth? That she felt like a ghost trapped in her own life? That every morning she woke up feeling like she was suffocating in her own thoughts?

Instead, she typed:

"Yeah, just been busy."

Busy with what? Staring at the ceiling? Listening to the sound of her own heartbeat? She knew if she told the truth, they wouldn't understand. No one ever did.

The reply came almost instantly.

"Wanna meet up? It's been forever!"

Meet up?

She used to love going out—cafes, bookstores, movie nights with friends. But now, the thought of being around people felt overwhelming. The idea of forcing a smile, pretending everything was fine… it felt exhausting.

Her heart pounded as she stared at the message. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to be normal again. But deep down, she knew she wasn't ready.

She typed: "Maybe another time."

And just like that, the conversation ended.

She put her phone down and stared at the ceiling again.

This was her life now. Moments of wanting to reach out, followed by pulling herself back. It was like standing at the edge of a deep ocean, wanting to step in but knowing she would drown the moment she did.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten all day. She sighed and forced herself to stand.

Downstairs, the house was silent. Her parents weren't home—probably out living their lives like always. She opened the fridge and grabbed an apple, not because she was hungry, but because she knew she had to eat something.

As she stood there, leaning against the counter, she noticed a photo stuck to the fridge door. It was from years ago—a picture of her smiling, standing between her parents at a theme park.

She barely recognized herself.

That girl in the photo had bright eyes, a carefree smile, and a heart full of dreams.

Where did she go?

She touched the edge of the photo lightly, as if trying to reach into the past. But memories didn't work that way. You couldn't bring back what was already gone.

She sighed and turned away.

That night, as she lay in bed, she thought about the message from her friend. About the photo on the fridge. About the girl she used to be.

And for the first time in a long time, she whispered into the darkness—

"I miss her."