Zariah didn't go to school on Monday.
She told her mom she had a stomachache. Her mom barely looked up from the kitchen counter, exhaustion written in the slouch of her shoulders. "Okay, baby. Just rest," she murmured, before grabbing her keys and leaving for work.
Zariah stayed in bed the entire day. No phone. No noise. Just the hum of the ceiling fan and the ache behind her eyes.
By Tuesday, she forced herself to go back. She wore a hoodie too big for her, sleeves pulled over her hands. Jasmine waved when she walked into class, but Zariah barely blinked.
At lunch, she didn't sit at their usual table. She sat under the stairs by the science wing, tracing her fingertips over the edge of her sketchbook. The only thing she'd drawn lately was a girl curled up in a glass jar, too small for her body, too silent for the world.
She didn't notice when Jasmine found her.
"Z?" Jasmine's voice was soft—worried.
Zariah quickly shut the book. "Hey."
"You've been ignoring my texts," Jasmine said, crouching beside her. "You didn't come over Saturday. Or Sunday. Or answer anything."
"I've been tired," Zariah replied. Her voice cracked on the last word.
Jasmine didn't say anything for a moment. Then: "I saw the pills in your bathroom."
Zariah's head snapped up.
"I came by Saturday night to drop off your sketch markers. Your mom let me in. You left the bathroom door open."
A heavy silence wrapped around them.
Zariah's throat felt like it was closing. "I wasn't— I didn't mean—"
Jasmine reached out and took her hand. "Zariah. You don't have to explain. But you also don't have to do this alone."
Tears hit before she could stop them. Quiet ones. Angry ones. The kind that burned.
Jasmine pulled her into a hug right there under the stairs, not caring who saw.
For the first time in weeks, Zariah let herself be held.
And it didn't fix everything.
But it stopped her from shattering....For now