The girl who waited

The days blurred together, each one passing like a quiet ripple in a vast, empty ocean. She had stopped counting. Stopped trying to mark the difference between today and yesterday.

It didn't matter anymore.

Morning came, and she woke up to the same dull feeling pressing against her chest. She knew she should get out of bed, but what was the point? There was no one waiting for her. No place she needed to be.

Still, the silence was suffocating.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. The air in her room felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on her shoulders. Her phone was next to her pillow, but she didn't bother checking it. No one had texted her since yesterday.

Or maybe they had, and she just didn't care enough to look.

The message from her old friend still lingered in her mind. It had been so easy to say "maybe another time." But deep down, she knew she was lying. There wouldn't be another time.

She had built a wall around herself, and now she didn't know how to tear it down.

Dragging herself out of bed, she walked over to the window. Outside, the world continued as if nothing had changed. People walking, cars moving, children playing in the distance.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass.

How could life keep going when she felt so stuck?

She remembered a time when she had been part of that world—when she had laughed, made plans, had dreams that felt so close she could almost touch them.

Now, everything felt like a memory of someone else's life.

She turned away from the window, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked to her desk. An old notebook sat there, untouched for months. She used to write in it all the time—thoughts, poems, dreams.

With hesitant fingers, she flipped it open.

The pages were filled with pieces of her past self. Scribbled hopes. Doodles in the margins. Little notes about things she had once wanted to do.

One entry caught her eye.

"One day, I'll travel the world. See places I've only read about. Eat food from every country. Meet people who make life feel like an adventure."

She swallowed hard. That version of her—the girl who believed in adventure, in possibilities—felt like a stranger.

Where had she gone?

A lump formed in her throat. She wanted to tear the page out, throw it away, pretend she had never written those words. But instead, she picked up a pen.

For the first time in months, she started writing.

"I don't know who I am anymore. I don't know when I stopped caring. But I miss the girl who dreamed. I miss the girl who thought the world was beautiful. I want to find her again. I just don't know how."

She stared at the words for a long time, her fingers gripping the pen tightly.

Could she really find her way back? Or was that version of her gone forever?

She sighed, closing the notebook.

Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe all she could do was take things one step at a time.

For now, writing those words was enough.

For now, it was a start.