Some days felt like progress.
Other days?
Like walking through wet sand in heavy shoes.
This morning started fine. I woke early. I made tea. I even smiled at the mirror.
But by noon, I was blinking too fast at my computer, heart tight for no clear reason.
Work emails piled up.
Clients needed things.
I had forgotten to eat.
"It's just one of those days," I whispered.
"Keep going."
But my hands were trembling.
And I didn't know why.
At 1:17 p.m., I stepped into the bathroom and sat on the floor. Cold tiles. Quiet.
I wasn't crying.
Not yet.
Just... not breathing well.
"You're okay."
"You're fine."
"Don't be dramatic."
Old phrases from my past. Things Jayden used to say. Things I learned to repeat to myself.
But today, they didn't work.
Because I wasn't okay.
I wasn't fine.
And pretending was starting to feel like self betrayal.
I don't remember texting him. I just typed his name.
Ava:
I'm not okay today.
No emojis. No pretending.
Just truth.
Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock at the office door.
Then another.
When I opened it, Elijah was standing there.
Grey hoodie. Messenger bag. Worry in his eyes, but no panic.
"I brought snacks," he said quietly. "And silence, if you want that too."
We didn't talk much.
I sat beside him on the park bench outside my office.
He passed me a paper bag apple slices, peanut butter, and a muffin.
"You forgot to eat, didn't you?"
I nodded.
"Thought so."
He didn't ask for a reason.
Didn't tell me to cheer up.
Didn't list everything I should be grateful for.
He just sat there.
Close enough that I felt safe.
Far enough that I didn't feel trapped.
After I ate, we walked around the block slowly.
"You don't have to explain your hard days," he said gently.
"But I'm always here if you want to talk through them."
I felt something warm press against my chest.
Not love. Not yet.
But trust.
Real, slow trust.
"I used to feel guilty for breaking down," I whispered.
"Like I was ruining someone else's good mood."
"Then you were around the wrong people," Elijah said.
"The right ones don't ask you to be strong for them."
We stopped in front of a little café with hanging flowers and warm lights.
"Do you want to go in?" he asked.
"No. I want to keep walking."
"Then we walk," he said.
And so we did.
That night, I wrote in my journal:
He didn't try to fix me.
He didn't offer advice, or distractions, or speeches.
He just showed up. With snacks. With stillness.
And I've never felt more seen in my sadness.
I used to believe love came with conditions.
But today, someone loved me in silence
and it was enough.