Page 65 of HEARTSTORM

Sleep didn't help me. It never does.

I woke up with my body aching, like I hadn't rested at all.

The sheets were tangled around me, and the air felt suffocating, like it had soaked up every nightmare I'd had and thrown it back at me.

And now everything felt heavier.

I forced myself out of bed like I was dragging a body that wasn't mine. I looked at myself in the mirror for a second before deciding to take a shower.

The water was freezing, just like I wanted it to be. I was trying to shock myself back into feeling something normal. It didn't help me.

I dried off wearily and returned to my bed.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

7:30 a.m.

I forced myself to my feet and opened the door, not surprised.

I knew it was my father.

He stepped in quietly, carrying a large bag.

"Good morning," he said, his tone low.

When his eyes met mine, I saw his whole posture change as if he registered the mess in front of him.

"I brought you some things, Maya," he murmured, still looking at me.

I didn't say anything. I just reached for the water and the ibuprofen, without even checking what else was in the bag.

"Headache," I said, swallowing the pill.

My father stayed silent, then picked up some new clothes and handed them to me.

I went to the bathroom and changed, carefully avoiding my reflection.

I grabbed my phone and texted Grace:

Thank you for the bag and for picking out the clothes.

I just knew she was behind this.

Her text came quickly:

It's okay. I miss you.

I stared at it a moment longer, then slipped my phone back into my pocket.

"Would you wanna eat?" my father asked as soon as I stepped out.

"No, thank you."

He didn't argue. He didn't push. He just nodded once, like he'd expected that answer.

We left the room in silence. My father walked ahead, and I followed, slow, heavy.

When the doors of the elevator opened to the lobby, the light hit me like a slap.

I slid into the passenger seat and turned my head toward the window. The street blurred past me, but I wasn't really seeing it. My eyes were open, but I wasn't looking.

"How's Grace?" I asked.

"Concerned. Like all of us, Maya," he replied cautiously. "But now you're coming home, and everything will settle down."

"I want to see Mom," I said.

My father didn't answer. He just shifted the steering wheel, his grip tightening for a moment.

The road narrowed as we drove, the familiar city fading behind us, until we reached the tall steel gates.

I stepped out, the damp chill of the air hitting me. The silence was deafening. It almost helped numb the ache in my chest.

My father placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'm going to get some flowers," he said.

I nodded without a word. He was giving me the space I needed.

The cemetery stretched quietly in front of me under a heavy, gray sky.

I dropped to my knees in front of her stone.

I stood there for what felt like forever, staring at it like it might change if I looked hard enough.

And for a second, I let myself believe Mom could hear me—that she was close, that I could still feel her warmth.

I pushed myself up, my father standing beside me. He placed a bright, beautiful bouquet in front of the stone.

For a moment, we just stood there together.

No words needed. Being here together, in this silence, didn't feel despairing. It felt like the only thing that made sense.

That was it.

We slowly made our way back to the car.

A few drops hit my face. They weren't tears. It was a fine drizzle.

I went back to staring into nothingness as my father started the engine.

"I haven't been a good father since your mother's been gone," he said.

"I've never been a good daughter either," I said.

"Not true," he said in a soft tone. "I'm very proud of you, Maya."

I bit the inside of my cheek just to keep it together, to stop the sting in my throat from rising any further.

His voice softened deeper. "I didn't know how to be there for you," he said.

My fingers curled into fists on my lap. I kept my face still, composed, shattered.

"I'm so sorry, Maya. I thought providing you with a life like this would be enough," he went on. "But all you wanted was me."

My chest ached so deeply I thought it might collapse in on itself. I didn't even breathe. I was scared that if I did, everything I'd buried would rise to the surface and spill out uncontrollably.

A long silence. Then, he spoke again:

"I won't let you carry your burdens alone anymore. I'm here for you."

It wasn't just what he said.

It was how he said it.

Like he meant every word.

Something shifted in my chest. Not relief, not yet—but something softer. Forgiveness. Understanding.

"Thank you," I said, and for once, the words didn't feel small.

I wanted to say more, but my lungs didn't feel big enough for the air I was trying to swallow.

My father understood completely. His hand moved steadily and rested gently over mine.

"Grace told me what Nick Crawford said about you and Mom."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

"Don't do anything," I said.

"Maya—" he said, facing me in disbelief.

"Don't do anything," I repeated. "Please."

There was no fight left in me.

I didn't want to fight anymore.

Especially not with him.

"I won't," my father finally assured me. "Let's just go home."

Home.

Grace.

She was my home, no matter where I was.

Now it feels like there's nothing left of me.

There's no saving me.

It's been unbearable without Maya.

I didn't realize how much space she took up in my life until she wasn't here to fill it.

Everything felt... off.

Even the silence felt different—heavier—like it's holding its breath, waiting for her.

I miss her. Not just her presence. I miss her—all of her.

I wanted to feel good again. To feel us—back to normal.

I leaned against the window frame. Outside, a soft drizzle tapped against the glass.

There's a strange twist in my chest, the kind that makes you feel both restless and still at once.

Finally, I saw it—the gate sliding open. My chest tightened and came alive at the same time the familiar car turned in.

Before it was even there, I was already moving. Down the stairs, through the hall, out the door. The drizzle clung to my hair, cool on my skin, but I barely noticed.

The car came to a stop, the door opened, and Maya stepped out.

The moment I saw her, I didn't even think—I just moved.

I crossed the space between us in seconds, wrapping my arms around her like I could make up for these hours apart in one hug.

But Maya didn't melt into me like I had imagined.

Her touch felt rigid against me, cold almost. No familiar squeeze, no warmth. Just... stillness.

Her hands barely brushing my back—as if holding me any tighter might break me.

It's like hugging a statue.

I pulled back slightly, my eyes searching hers, but her gaze flickered past me instead of meeting mine.

Her pale skin almost glowed against the gray sky, but there was a tiredness to her. She looked hollow, drained, and moved as if every step took effort.

I tried again, brushing my thumb against her hand—the way I always did when I wanted her to relax—but she didn't react.

I'm not sure if she was even really here.

"Hey," I whispered, pulling back slightly.

Maya finally lifted her head, and for a split second, our eyes met. Blank. Unreachable. Hurt.

"Hey," she replied, quiet, flat.

I turned without thinking, my feet moving on their own, confusion knotting in my chest as I followed her slow steps.

Victor fell into step beside me, his voice low.

"We went to the cemetery," he said, glancing at Maya. "She hasn't eaten."

We stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house did nothing to ease the chill clinging to her body. Victor left us alone.

I reached out, brushing my hand against her arm, covered by the hoodie I had picked for her.

"Do you want something to eat?" I asked softly.

"No," Maya replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

I hesitated, then tried again, careful not to push too hard. "Are you sure? Just a little something."

"No, Grace, thank you," she repeated, firmer this time. After a brief pause, she added, "Do you want to go upstairs?"

Her words were careful, measured, carrying a quiet insistence.

I nodded as we climbed the stairs in silence.

Once inside her room, Maya closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment. Her shoulders slumped.

After that brief pause, I watched her sit on the bed, her hands rising to her face, shielding her eyes—from the light, from me.

I reached out, gently pulling her hands away. I expected her to cry. She didn't.

For a moment, our hands finally lingered together. Maya pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss to my knuckles. Hers were scratched.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice wavered.

"I'm okay. I just miss you so, so much. I've been thinking about you constantly, Maya," my voice betrayed the worry I couldn't hide. "I just want things to go back to normal."

"Normal," Maya repeated, like tasting the word.

"Yes," I nodded, locking eyes with her. "Just you and me."

"So I could hurt you again? Screw everything up? Break your heart, Grace?"

Her directness hit me hard as I watched her shrink into herself with every word.

"Maya... stop," I said, my voice soft, sincere. "You never did any of this."

She let go of my hands, pushing herself up.

"Stop. Stop defending me, Grace, please."

It wasn't a scolding—there was no anger, just a raw, fragile honesty.

"I've ruined everything." She bit her lip, holding back a sigh. "I—I can't risk it. Not again. Not with you, Grace."

"Maya—" I stepped closer, my hands grabbing hers firmly. "Please, look at me. Don't turn away."

She hesitated, eyes downcast, lips pressed together. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she met my gaze.

"You're not a risk, Maya. I just want to help you. Let me."

For a second, it felt like she understood me, like we were finally speaking the same language.

It didn't last long.

Her eyes darkened again as she drifted away, letting go of my hands.

"You can't," Maya said, almost to herself, yet her eyes stayed on me. "I don't want you caught up in my mistakes, Grace."

I froze, her firm words sinking before mine could spill out.

"I don't care, Maya. I love you. I'll go through it with you."

Maya exhaled slowly, a faint tremor on her lips, a darkness on her face.

"There's a hole inside me," she whispered. "It's mine. It takes everything—even the light. You can't go through it with me, Grace. It would break you."

Her words ripped through me.

I wanted to reach in, fix her, hold her until she felt safe.

I took a step closer, but Maya recoiled again.

My hand hovered, not sure if she'd let me reach her.

"We do this together, remember?"

I tried to bring her back with the words we always said.

Maya stared at my hand, and I couldn't tell if letting me in would help her or consume her completely.

"I can't," she said, final, like a wall rising.

My heart faltered at that word, but I wasn't backing down.

"I'll stay with you anyway," I said, knowing that hesitation wouldn't work. I had to be firm with her.

Maya let the silence stretch between us.

She turned to the window, watching the rain hit a little harder—the only sound besides my own heartbeat.

I could see her—breath coming fast, shoulders tight, arms crossed. I knew every small detail about her.

Then, she turned back to me, stone-faced, eyes locked and unreadable.

"I need space."

My breath hitched. "What does that mean?"

"I need to figure myself out, Grace."

I swallowed hard, my chest aching, panic rising in my throat. This can't be happening.

"We don't... we don't need space," I said, my voice firm but trembling. "We do this together."

Maya shook her head, barely breathing, words failing her.

I stepped closer, refusing to give her the space she wanted, refusing to let her go.

"Don't do this, Maya, please. Don't push me away."

My voice cracked with desperation, a plea I couldn't swallow.

Her eyes flickered for a moment, then she pulled herself together as if my words might break her.

"I can't be the person you need right now, Grace."

"No, exactly," I burst out, unable to hold back. "Because you would have fought, Maya. You wouldn't push me away. You wouldn't have left me alone against the world!"

"You're not alone, Grace," her voice softened, her eyes glossy. "You're stronger than you think."

"I..." My voice caught, raw and shaking. "I don't want to be strong."

"But you have to."

There was no softness, no chance to argue—just her firm, steady determination.

But this time, it didn't reach me.

I still felt lost, crushed by the weight of it all.

I looked at Maya one last time, searching for any flicker in her eyes, any hidden emotion that might betray something more—doubt, longing, love, anything.

All I found was a calm certainty.

It felt like looking at a shadow of her, not the real her.

I turned and walked away, slamming the door behind me.

I don't even know how I made it to my room. My legs moved, but my mind was somewhere else.

Her words kept echoing in my chest, stuck there like they wouldn't leave.

I didn't want this. Space was the last thing I wanted from her.

I'm angry at her. I'm angry at me.

I'm angry at the world for not giving her a second to just breathe.

I know how much pain Maya's carried all these years, hiding it behind her eyes.

But I saw it. I felt it. I wanted to carry it with her, even if it meant hurting myself.

I just want her to be okay.

Every time I closed my eyes, Maya was there—close enough to touch, but too far to reach.

My thoughts spun in circles.

"You're stronger than you think."

But I didn't want to be strong if it meant losing her.

I don't even know... if she still thinks of us the way I do.

Does she... still love me?