He reached his house, disappointment etched on his face. His shoulders felt heavier than usual, and the silence in his room only made it worse.
Without thinking much, he plopped onto his bed, pulled out his phone, and started scrolling mindlessly. Reel after reel, meme after meme—nothing helped. Brain-rotting wasn't helping either.
With a sigh, he turned off his phone and tossed it aside. The room suddenly felt suffocating in its stillness.
He got up, walked over to the small fridge in the corner, and opened it slowly. A box of food he had left earlier stared back at him. Cold and lifeless, just like the mood in his room.
He had no way to heat it, but hunger wasn't leaving either. So he ate it just like that. And it was bad. Really bad.
Still, he finished what he could and tucked himself back into bed, hoping—praying—that sleep would come easy.
But every time his eyes fluttered shut, the image returned. That exact moment.
Her body stumbling.
The car approaching.
The second he thought she was gone.
He sat up, groaning in frustration. Running both hands through his hair, he leaned forward, elbows on knees, breath heavy. The visions wouldn't leave.
He laid back down, eyes staring at the ceiling this time. Tossing. Turning. Her face flashed in his head every time he blinked.
Her eyes.
Her voice.
The way her head felt against his chest.
He remembered the warmth of her wrist against his fingers, the thrum of her pulse like it was echoing in him even now.
He wanted her there.
He wanted to see her smile—and he wanted to be the reason for that smile.
He wanted her to come to him when she needed someone. No one else. Just him.
He wanted to talk to her about the stupidest things. Or maybe not talk at all. Just sit there with her beside him, letting time blur out everything else.
He was going crazy. That much was clear.
He loved his sleep. But tonight, she had invaded that too.
And that kind of obsession—it scared him.
He didn't know what to do with it. He didn't know how to quiet it.
All he could do was pray—for it to stop.
For things to go back to normal.
But would they?
Would he ever go back to keeping his distance? To pretending she didn't pull something in him that he didn't have a name for?
He knew the answer.
And that terrified him.
And amused him.
Because it was already too late.
Still, even though sleep felt miles away, he knew morning would come.
College would come.
And if he ever gathered the courage… maybe tomorrow, he'd talk to her.
Nothing serious.
Just… talk.
Start somewhere.
And with that small thread of hope,
He drifted to sleep in silence.