Page 66 of HEARTSTORM

It was deafeningly silent in my room.

I had the worst ache in my chest.

I slowly opened my eyes to the faint light slipping through my window.

Every muscle ached, and for a moment, I just lay there, trying to gather the pieces of myself.

I was confused whether I'd slept for two hours or fourteen.

I sat up, my eyes finding the balcony.

The dawn was beginning to break.

I rose and stepped outside.

The sky was brushed with soft pink and gold.

I leaned against the railing, feeling the chill seep through my skin.

Nothing felt right. Not the colors, not the quiet, not the way my chest felt heavy and empty all at once.

I let the morning light spread before me, hoping it might carry something—anything—away.

I stepped back inside and into the bathroom.

Against my better judgment, I looked at myself in the mirror.

My hair was messy and tangled, my eyes puffy, my lips swollen. My entire face had a tired look that couldn't hide a single thing.

I dragged myself into the shower and took what felt like the longest shower of my life. Or maybe the shortest—I had no sense of time.

I took a shaky breath and forced myself to grab a brush, running it through my hair on autopilot.

It took me a while to realize—Morning. Work.

The world kept moving, and I had to bend to its will.

I slipped into my work outfit when my gaze fell on the chair...

And froze.

Maya's clothes. My clothes, but hers at the same time.

Without thinking, I stepped closer. I picked up the soft sweater, bringing it to my face.

The scent hit me instantly.

Maya. Always Maya.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting it sink in, letting every piece of me remember, feel, and ache.

Maybe going to work would help.

Maybe it would keep my mind off everything.

My feet carried me out of my room before I could change my mind.

I glanced at Maya's room, but her door was shut tight. Probably locked.

Each step toward the stairs—and away from her—felt heavier.

I found Nelly in the living room, a surprised look on her face as she saw me.

"Why are you up so early, Grace? Already had breakfast?"

I tried to dodge both questions, but Nelly didn't give me a choice. She pulled out a plate of avocado toast and a glass of juice, setting them in front of me.

I ate everything with disarming slowness, but I pushed myself to finish it anyway.

I felt overwhelmed and I had no plan for how to stop this.

No matter how much I tried.

The day at work dragged on forever.

It wasn't the tasks—it was my mind.

I spent the whole day circling around the same question: How do I fix this?

Running in circles, chasing every possible way I could change this reality.

But nothing felt right. Nothing was enough.

The more I tried to plan, the more useless I felt.

My supervisor asked me if I had made a decision about New York.

I told her I was still thinking about it, even though it barely registered in my mind anymore.

By the time I left, I was drained.

It felt like I'd been moving through a fog all day, half-awake and half-dreaming.

When I finally made it home, I pushed the door open with a sigh.

And then—my breath caught.

Maya was there.

It felt unreal, like my mind had imagined her out of desperation.

But she was real. Standing right there in the living room.

She stood by the fridge, half-turned, a glass of water in her hand.

Our eyes collided.

It lasted seconds—barely that.

But in those seconds, I saw everything.

Dark circles lined her eyes, skin thin over sharp cheekbones. Her lips pressed tight, holding back whatever she didn't want me to see.

Her eyes—God, her eyes.

The only part of her that still felt untouched, the part she couldn't hide.

When she saw me, she straightened her back, raised the glass, and drank fast. Too fast.

I moved closer, toward the cupboard by the fridge, forcing myself to act normal, to have an excuse to be near her.

My fingers reached for a glass.

But my eyes never left her.

I couldn't stop.

Maya was shifting already, her body angled like she was ready to leave, to vanish.

My grip faltered.

The glass slipped from my hand.

It hit the floor with a sharp crack, shattering into pieces.

The sound broke the silence.

Maya stilled.

Then, slowly, she turned to me.

My chest tightened so hard it hurt.

Before I could stop myself, I bent down, my hands moving quickly, almost frantically, to gather the shards.

My breath came uneven, too fast.

I could feel her presence above me, silent but heavy.

"Put them down, Grace."

My eyes glanced up to her but instead of stopping, panic took over.

My hands moved desperately, piling the shards into my palms, not fully realizing what I was doing.

"Grace, stop." Her tone was firmer now, closer.

Her footsteps crossed the floor, quick and controlled.

The shards clinked against each other in my hands, as if mocking how clueless I was.

What the hell am I doing?

I stood up quickly and tried to toss it in the trash, but my palm got cut.

The sound that escaped me was involuntary. A gasp.

And just like that, Maya was in front of me.

Her hand was already around mine, firm and careful.

My heart pounded from that touch alone.

Her eyes studied the cut, her brow furrowed, her thumb hovered near it, not touching.

"Sit." The word was short, leaving no room for refusal.

I sank into the nearest chair, pulse racing.

Maya let go just enough to grab the first aid kit. She moved quickly, efficient, like muscle memory.

She took my hand again, holding it gently. The cold sting of liquid met my cut, but I didn't flinch. Her fingers were around mine, steady, warm, real.

Her focus was sharp, precise, but I felt it in every move: how she held me like I might break, leaned closer without realizing, her breath brushing my skin.

Every now and then, she glanced at me as if checking if it hurt.

Time slowed. I felt like I could sink into this moment and never come up for air.

Maya set the last piece of gauze, her fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long before letting go.

Her eyes lifted, searching—and found mine.

"Why didn't you stop when I told you to?" she asked.

"I didn't realize what I was doing."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I warned you."

I felt the ache building in my chest. "I could handle it."

Are we still talking about my cut?

For a long moment, Maya didn't speak. When she did, it was both firm and wistful.

"Don't push yourself, Grace."

My chest constricted at her words.

She gave me a brief glance, something fleeting, between concern and warning.

She pulled away, climbing the stairs, disappearing into her room.

That was it.

I just... stood there, holding my cut, holding myself, holding the echo of her touch.

Something inside me stirred—restless, raw, unspent. I didn't need to think. I just needed to move.

I grabbed my phone before I could think twice.

I needed someone who wouldn't judge, someone who would understand without having to explain too much.

I called Lily.

"Pick me up at nine," I told her. Maybe it was the urgency in my voice, but she didn't ask for explanations.

Back in my room, I shut the door and started getting ready. The mirror reflected me—I needed to rebuild this mess.

For the first time in days, I felt a pulse of movement inside me.

I don't even know how to explain it.

I moved in scattered motions—detangling my hair, grabbing my bag, slipping into my shoes. Not thinking. Just needing to get out.

At exactly nine, I heard Lily's car.

I hurried down the stairs, and there she was, sitting behind the wheel, eyes curious.

"Why the urgent call?" she asked.

The words poured out, fast and hot. Lily listened, driving, focused, without interrupting.

She didn't know a thing.

When she stopped the car where I'd asked, she took my hand. "I don't think this is a good idea, given the circumstances, Grace," she said, calm but firm.

"I couldn't just stay there," I urged, clutching her hand. "I need to do something, anything. Please."

Her hesitation was brief. She looked into my eyes and finally stepped out of the car without another word.

The nightclub stretched before us.

Lights flashed in every color, bass vibrating through the floor.

I needed a place that didn't feel empty.

A place full of sound, full of people, anything to pull me out of myself.

A sudden rush of euphoria coursed through me.

Without thinking, I grabbed Lily's hand, pulling her with me into the crowd.

She looked at me like she was trying to catch what was on my mind.

Everything I had held back over the last days, all the fears, thoughts, confusion, tension...

I let it out in the music, in the movements, in every frantic step.

Lily followed, her disbelief mixing with my chaos.

I didn't drink a single drop. Not even one.

I wanted to let it out and, at the same time, I wanted it to end.

I wanted release, I wanted calm—I wanted both at once.

When I turned—

Lily wasn't beside me anymore.

How long had she been gone without me noticing?

I couldn't see anything but bodies moving to the music.

I spun around, calling her name, but the music was too loud.

I grabbed my phone—six missed calls from her from fifteen minutes ago.

I hadn't even realized that so much time had passed.

Deep breaths. In and out.

I texted her: See you at the exit.

I tried to make my way through the crowd, but everything was a blur.

Sweat, bodies, flashing lights, the bass hammering through my chest. I couldn't move. Couldn't think.

Time passed—I had no idea how long, how many songs, how many thoughts since I'd last seen Lily.

At some point, I realized I was making a mess of me—red-faced, aware, embarrassed, trying desperately not to think, not to feel.

My legs trembled, and slowly, involuntarily, I started to curl over myself.

Before I could give in, a hand grabbed mine.

Instantly, I knew.

Could I recognize this hand in a sea of people and know it was hers? Only hers.

I turned.

Maya.

Her eyes locked on mine.

"I've got you."

Her hands gripped my hips, firm but gentle, lifting me up.

I leaned into her, letting her hold me as my trembling slowed.

"Let's go," she said, as her hand softly gripped my wrist.

She didn't let go, not once, as she guided me through the crowd, moving like the world obeyed her.

Her eyes were alert, scanning, making sure nothing could touch me.

Even in the chaos, she made the world slow down, a safe place just for me.

Finally, we reached the edge of the dance floor. I saw Lily.

She gave a helpless shrug, as if to tell me she had no choice.

I wasn't angry at her.

I couldn't blame her for calling Maya.

My behavior had been very bad and messy.

Maya looked at Lily, shook her head, but said nothing, letting her disapproval speak for itself.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered to Lily, stepping closer. "It's my fault," I added, just as Maya steered me toward the exit.

Lily nodded, her eyes flickering between understanding and worry.

Maya didn't let go of my wrist until we reached her car. She opened the door, never breaking her calm hold.

I stopped, my gaze holding her in place.

"Why did you take it out on Lily?" I said, my voice cracking. "She didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes scanned my face but said nothing.

"Why did you take it out on her and not on me?" The real question finally leaving my mouth.

Maya just looked at me, calm, unflinching, like she wasn't even considering it.

"Answer me," I said, frustration and confusion burning through me.

"Get in the car, Grace," she said.

Her matter-of-fact tone left no space for argument.

I slid in with an irritated sigh, the door shut behind me with a soft click.

Maya went around and got on the driver's side. The world seemed to shrink into that small space.

Silence fell.

No words, just breaths, trying to fill the space, trying to exist without breaking it.

Maya gripped the steering wheel, her eyes stared ahead, focused, unwavering.

The streetlights blurred past in slow, golden streaks.

A thousand things could have been said, but neither of us dared to speak.

Minutes stretched into something unmeasurable, until finally, we arrived home.

Maya stopped the car.

But I had no intention of stepping out.

"I'm not mad at you," she finally said, looking at me, but I stared ahead. "This isn't you, Grace."

I knew what she meant, but I didn't really want to accept it yet.

"You don't see it, do you?" she murmured, a tiny flicker crossing her face.

I stayed silent.

"I don't want you to lose yourself for me, Grace."

Her voice was soft but serious, cutting through my defenses. It made me stop and feel the weight of her words.

It wasn't an accusation—it was a plea, a care I couldn't look away from.

I turned toward her.

"I'm just... trying to survive."

Maya sank into the seat, shaking her head, her eyes fixed on me.

"If anything ever happened to you, Grace, I don't think I could survive it. Not again."

"Maya..." my voice broke, but there was nothing left to hold back. "You don't have to punish you for something you couldn't control. It's not your fault."

Her chest rose sharply, a shaky breath barely escaping her lips, her voice trapped inside.

"You need to face your pain, Maya. You need to break. You need to let it all out before it takes over."

She flinched, her shoulders jerked back, her eyes dark—not angry, haunted.

"I can't promise I won't hurt you in the process, Grace. The thought alone breaks me."

Her words were honest, the darkness of her eyes seeping so deeply into mine that it made me shiver.

That's when I realized her emptiness wasn't aimed at me—it was inside her.

"Let me help you."

It was my final plea.

The last that still carried hope.

The last I could say without breaking.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes glistening.

"I can't be the only one holding us together, Maya..."

Help me.

Do something.

Say something.

Anything.

Please.

Now.

I'm here.

She said nothing.

I clenched my hands together, feeling every heartbeat crash against my chest.

I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be.

I slid the sun ring off my finger, the one she gave me when we became us.

I placed it right in front of us, my fingers lingering over it for a heartbeat.

I met Maya's eyes, silently reaching out, giving her all the space to come closer if she wanted. I held nothing but hope—that she would.

Her gaze was fixed on the ring. Her eyes trailing every curve of it, unblinking. Still. No movement. No word.

I gripped the car handle, my fingers trembling, clenching it so tightly I thought I might break it.

I waited. And waited again.

But nothing happened.

I had given all I could.

With a slow, heavy breath, I opened the door. Not with anger. Not with hate. Just with a hollow understanding.

I closed it behind me and stepped out.

The night air hit my skin, cool, unforgiving.

As I walked away, my tears finally slipped free, quiet, allowed, consuming in their truth.

They weren't rough or loud. Just the kind of tears that come from loving her, and not knowing if it would ever be enough.

If only I could have filled even a tiny part of the emptiness she carried.

But I couldn't.

Not this time.

Maybe not ever.