Page 58 of HEARTSTORM

It's been a week since what happened.

Things between Maya and her father went completely cold. Like, full-on silent treatment, just like she predicted.

Every time they were in the same room, there were just these... tense, heavy glances. Not a word.

Maya acted like nothing was wrong, like she couldn't care less. But I saw it. Every look, every sigh, every stiff silence—it was all building up inside her like a pressure.

And Victor? Even worse. It was like they were in some kind of competition to see who could be more stubborn.

I tried talking to my mom about it, hoping to fix it. But she just gave me that soft, tired smile and said we'd just have to wait—which I already knew. So, basically, no help there.

It was Monday, and I woke up slower than usual, expecting to feel Maya's warmth beside me—but the bed was empty.

She would wake me up somehow, even if it was just with a kiss or pulling me into her arms. But today... nothing.

I blinked a few times, and rolled over, the spot next to me was cold. Way too cold, and it was early.

I sighed, not thinking too much about it. She'd been acting a little off all week, so maybe she just left for college early or something.

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and sent her a quick text: Good morning, baby. Somehow, I didn't expect an immediate reply.

I dragged myself out of bed and headed downstairs. The house was unusually quiet—not that I was surprised. Nelly was already in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Nelly," I said.

She looked up right away, then asked, "Good morning, Grace. Where's Maya?"

I frowned, feeling a weird tightness in my chest. "I didn't find her this morning. She must've left before I woke up."

When I said that, Nelly's face froze. Her expression tensed, and it made my stomach twist. Before I could say anything, I heard quick footsteps approaching.

Victor came down, looking tense. His face was tight, like he hadn't slept well—or maybe had spent the night stressing.

"Where's Maya?" he said, his eyes scanning the room.

It wasn't just that he was asking—it was the worried tone that caught me off guard.

I stared at him for a moment and repeated the exact same thing I'd told Nelly.

Victor nodded, like he was expecting to hear that. But something in the way he looked at Nelly—like they shared an unspoken exchange—made me freeze. He didn't say anything else, just walked toward his office.

"What's going on?" I asked Nelly immediately

Her face darkened, like she was about to pull back. Then she sighed. "Today marks the day Maya's mother passed away," she said quietly.

The words felt like a punch to the chest.

I felt so... helpless. And the fact that Maya didn't tell me made my chest tighten even more.

Today had to be the hardest day of the year for her—a day she faced every single year.

She had never been good at showing how much it hurt, but her silence spoke louder than any words ever could.

I went back upstairs, moving slowly, took a shower, changed into my work clothes, and headed to the museum. But today... I wasn't really there. My mind was stuck on Maya.

I couldn't stop thinking about how alone she must have felt.

After a while, my phone finally buzzed.

Good morning baby :)

Like nothing was wrong. Like it was just a normal day to her.

I didn't know what to say. I couldn't ask how she was—I already knew the answer. And I had a feeling she wouldn't tell me the truth anyway.

I stared at the screen for a moment before typing: What are you doing? :)

Her text came fast:

Bored. My professor's voice could literally put me to sleep. Fucking hate Mondays.

I could tell she was avoiding the real topic. And that was okay. I didn't push. I just... stayed with her however I could.

I sent her another text: When are you coming home?

Her reply popped up:

After classes I have to go to the community center for a few hours.

Of course she did. She was keeping herself busy. Keeping her mind somewhere else. Anywhere else.

I stared at that text for a long second. Was that healthy? Was it okay that she wasn't facing today at all? But it wasn't my choice. This was her pain. Her story. Her way of coping.

I texted her: Okay. I'll wait for you. I love you.

She texted me back: I love you too. Laters, baby.

The hours dragged on painfully. My shift finally ended, and I went home. I had a quick lunch—salad and toast. The house felt completely empty. Not a sound.

I went upstairs and into Maya's room. It was already dark outside, and now it was raining. At first, it was just a soft tapping, but then the storm hit hard.

I sent her a text.

Where are you?

No reply.

I sat down, glancing around her room. Every little detail—books, scattered papers, the framed photo of her and her mother—made my chest ache.

My thumb hovered over my phone, hesitant, unsure if I should text her again.

Then—I heard it.

The door opened.

She was here.

"Maya, finally," I breathed out.

"Shit, it's pouring out there," she muttered, brushing the wet strands of hair off her face.

She exhaled sharply, pulling off her wet T-shirt and staying in her bra.

I stood up and walked past her. "I'll grab you a towel," I said, but before I could enter her bathroom, Maya tugged on my wrist to stop me.

"No," she said, coming closer, cupping my face in her hands and kissing me.

I was caught off guard. Not by the kiss, but by how rushed it felt. I kissed her back, even as my mind raced, even as my chest tightened with longing and worry.

Her lips crashed against mine with even more intensity. Teeth, tongue, mouth—everything collided in a mess of heat and need.

"Maya—" I murmured to get her to look at me.

Her hands pressed against my arms, making me walk backward until I felt the bed behind my ankles.

In one swift motion, she pulled me onto the bed, following instantly, her body pressing close to mine in a desperate, hurried way.

"Maya," I whispered again, needing to hear her voice, needing something steady in the rush of it all.

But she didn't meet my eyes. Her lips moved urgently, chaotically, as if she was trying to erase all the pain.

I froze for a moment, unaccustomed to seeing her like this.

Her jaw clenched as she tugged my hand, letting my fingers drift down her bare stomach as she clung to me, craving my touch.

Her skin was tense at first, then softened beneath my fingers.

Finally, she looked at me and I could see her eyes—dark, but not sharp—more distant, heavy with hurt.

Her lips collided with mine once more—eager, aching to feel something. Her hand tugged at the back of my neck, pulling me closer.

She is falling apart.

"Hey—" I tried to speak between the short breaths she allowed me. "Maybe we should take it slow—" I shifted slightly, pressing my hands gently against her shoulders.

She paused, her lips still on mine, but the movement slowed, and I could feel her awareness flicker.

I turned my head just enough to break the kiss for a breath.

Maya flinched, instinctively pulling back. Her eyes locked on mine, wide and searching, as if she was seeing me—and herself—clearly for the first time in minutes.

Her chest rose and fell a little faster, and for a moment she just stared at me, caught between wanting to say something and not knowing where to start. Then she whispered, almost to herself, "I... I didn't mean—"

I squeezed her shoulders gently, letting her know I wasn't upset. "It's okay. Just... breathe with me for a second."

Maya nodded slightly, showing that she was hearing me now. She was present with herself.

"Breathe. Focus on me," I said, sighing deeply and exhaling slowly to guide her.

Her movements mirrored mine, her unsteady breath finally syncing with mine.

It took a moment for her to reconnect with the world, and when I felt it was okay, I squeezed her arm. She let me touch her, but she didn't reach for me in return.

Slowly, I moved closer, my arms wrapping gently around her neck. Her body stayed tense against mine, as if unsure how to move, her hands not daring to touch me.

"Can you hug me?" I asked, meeting her conflicted gaze as she tilted her head.

"But—but—"

"I want you to hug me," I said more firmly.

Finally, her arms lifted from her hips, carefully wrapping around my waist. Not tight, but enough to feel her warmth seeping into my skin.

We stayed like that for minutes, gently running our fingers through each other's hair and across each other's backs.

Until Maya pulled back slightly to meet my eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice barely there. "God, I didn't even realize what I was doing. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't... me."

Maya stepped back again, hesitant to even breathe near me.

I parted my lips to speak, but she stopped me gently.

"That's not how I handle my emotions, Grace. Never that way, and I never meant to put you in that position," she sighed, her words spilling out soft but heavy.

"Look at me," I said, interrupting her. I gently cupped her face so she had no choice but to meet my eyes. "I know you, and it's okay—we're okay, I promise," I said, leaving no room for doubt.

"Grace, seriously... just slap me or something," she said, her tone almost serious.

"Emh, no," I said, almost laughing.

"Do something, I don't deserve this," she insisted.

"Okay..." I said, approaching her as she nodded a few times.

"Do it," Maya said decisively. "Slap me."

"Ready?" I asked.

"One hundred percent."

I leaned in and kissed her.

Maya's eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting as I leaned in. Slowly, hesitantly, she returned the kiss, letting it linger, tasting every moment, as if trying to remember herself through it.

"I don't deserve you, baby," she whispered against my lips.

I smiled softly. "You do."

I slapped her ass and she flinched slightly.

"Wow," she mumbled. "Okay," she smirked. "I deserved it."

Her fingers traced my cheek softly, following its curve. When her lips met mine again, they were sure, steady, and warm. Like it always was.

"Let's go grab something to eat downstairs," I suggested.

Maya just nodded, not really excited about it.

"Food too," I said, eyeing her unamused expression. "How long has it been since you ate?"

"I had a coffee this morning," she replied reluctantly.

"It's not a meal, Maya," I scolded her.

"Yeah, okay... food too," she said hesitantly.

We went downstairs, and while I asked Nelly to prepare something to eat, I noticed Maya pop a pill. Glancing at the box, I saw it was Ibuprofen.

"What's hurting?" I asked.

"Just a little headache, Grace. Nothing important."

But I knew that 'just a little' hid more than she was letting on.

We both sat down. Nelly came back with pasta, roasted chicken, and vegetables. I could tell Maya felt overwhelmed just looking at all that food in front of her, so I decided to share it with her—one bite at a time, slowly but comfortably.

"Years ago, I wouldn't have eaten," she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

I turned fully toward her, giving her my attention.

"I would have slowly drained myself in an attempt to feel normal again."

I nodded gently, encouraging her to open up.

"But then again, what's normal when I've watched my mom die in a hospital?" Her voice tried to sound strong, but it cracked instead.

I stroked her back, feeling her tension ease slightly as she let out a slow, shaky exhale.

"Last time I cried was when I was nine..." Her voice faltered, breaking.

My heart ached as I fought to keep a sigh from spilling.

"I wish I could cry, but I can't. Feels like all my tears ran out that day," her eyes drifted, lost somewhere else. "I didn't even cry at her funeral—a nine-year-old child who couldn't cry," she let out a nervous laugh.

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as I watched her—so vulnerable, so exposed.

"I was sent to several therapists. They all said I needed to let out that sadness by crying. But no one ever understood that what I really felt was... anger."

I blinked a few times as her fingers traced imaginary circles on the table, trying to ground herself in reality.

"Because my mom was gone. And I couldn't make sense of it."

I felt my throat twist into knots, aching for all she had endured—so much pain she never should have carried.

Maya lowered her gaze. "So if I don't cry, it's not because I don't feel," she confessed.

"I get you, Maya," I said, stroking the back of her neck gently. "I've always known you feel it all."

"Ask me... anything about her," she whispered, her eyes searching mine as if she was letting me hold a piece of her.

I smiled. "What's one thing you remember about her that makes you smile?"

Her eyes glimmered, a distant look crossing her face as she thought for a moment.

"She used to leave little notes for me, like tucked in my school books or on the mirror. 'You're my sunshine' or 'You've got this.' I always thought they were silly at the time. I'd give anything to find just one more."

Tears started streaming down my face as Maya's expression softened, gently kissing my tears away.

"You're so strong," I whispered.

"Grace—"

"No, Maya, you're literally the most resilient person I know. No matter how much life's thrown at you, you still stand tall and confident, and that's the strongest thing I've ever seen."

She paused for several seconds as if she were processing my words.

"Thank you, Grace." She pressed her forehead against mine, smiling warmly. "Everything feels different now, because I have you—and you make it feel right again."

"Yes," I said softly. "You've got me."

We were just about to kiss when Victor suddenly appeared in the room. Maya stiffened immediately.

"May I join you?" he asked carefully.

"Yes," I said, since Maya had gone back to her silent treatment.

Victor sat down in front of us, glancing at the table with the remaining food with a subtle smile.

"I'm glad you ate, Maya."

Something had changed. He looked... different—hopeful.

Maya averted her eyes to the side, crossing her arms. Her stubbornness was back.

"I'm also glad Grace is here with you," he added, his voice carrying a warmth I'd never heard him use with her.

But Maya still wasn't having it. She exhaled and stood up, motioning for me to follow her—but Victor spoke again.

"I can recognize when something is good for you, Maya." Victor glanced in my direction with a smile. "Grace is the person who helps you feel like yourself."

Maya stared at him, caught off guard. I could see the slight shift in her posture, the way her face softened—barely—but it was there.

"I'm glad I'm here," I said, smiling.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It felt like something just clicked without needing to say it out loud.

Victor stood, taking a few steps toward Maya, who remained quiet, almost frozen. Sensing she wasn't rejecting him, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"The words I said about you—about you and Grace, were awful. I'm sorry."

Maya stood there, chin up, holding her breath, perfectly still—not daring to break the moment she'd waited for.

"I was never good at showing my feelings..." Victor continued, his voice soft and sincere. "Or saying them, but... I'm proud of you, Maya."

Maya blinked rapidly, as if trying to hold back the rush of emotions his words stirred. She just stared, overwhelmed, unsure of what to do with herself.

"And so would your mom," Victor added with a smile.

And just like that—with the tiniest hesitation—she finally stepped forward and hugged him.

Victor's arms wrapped around her, his movements cautious but gentle, as if afraid she might pull away. But she didn't.

It felt like all the weight between them—the silence, distance, and hurt—was... finally ready to heal.

Victor looked down at her. "I want to do better. Even if just saying it isn't enough."

Maya gave a small nod. "That's okay, dad. You just did."

In the silence that followed, they shared a knowing look—not just at each other, but at everything that was said.

Maya turned away slowly, a small smile on her lips as I walked beside her, heading upstairs.

"What was that, Grace?" she whispered, eyes sparkling.

"Understanding," I replied.