The morning after the open mic, the campus feels different.
Not louder. Not quieter. Just… charged.
Like a storm gathering its breath.
---
I catch Tari outside the library.
He's leaning against a tree, headphones in, staring at nothing and everything.
I hesitate. Then walk over.
"Hey," I say.
He pulls out one earbud. "Hey."
We don't say much. Just stand there, breathing in sync with the noisy quiet around us.
---
"You okay?" I finally ask.
He shrugs. "I don't know."
"You want to talk about it?"
He laughs—soft, almost bitter. "You're full of questions for someone who never answers."
I smile. "Maybe that's because I want to hear the real stuff."
He looks at me then. Really looks.
For the first time, the mask slips.
---
"My brother… Elijah," he says slowly, "he was everything I wasn't. Outgoing, loud, fearless. I always tried to keep up. But I wasn't brave enough. Not like him."
His voice cracks. "When he died… it felt like the world broke a little."
---
I reach out, touch his arm. It's a small gesture, but it says, *You're not alone.*
---
"Thank you," he whispers.
---
That day, for the first time, Tari lets me see his cracks. And I realize—maybe that's how healing starts. Not by fixing, but by showing.
---
Days pass, and our friendship deepens.
We study together, share meals, and slowly break down the walls we built.
But walls have windows too.
And through those windows, pain and hope sneak in together.
---
One afternoon, I find Tari staring out the dorm window, silent.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
He shrugs. "How do you fix something that's broken from the inside?"
I don't have answers. But I take his hand anyway.
Sometimes, that's enough.
---
That night, I write again.
Not just for me.
But for us.
For the broken.
For the healing.
For the ones who don't know where to start.
---
*Excerpt from Ayanna's journal:*
*We are all cracked.*
*That's how the light gets in.*
*Maybe one day, I'll learn to let it shine without fear.*
---
The next morning, I wake to a message from Tari:
*"Meet me at the lake. Noon. No excuses."*
I roll my eyes but smile. Tari's stubbornness is contagious.
At the lake, the water's glassy and cold, reflecting the sky's tired gray.
Tari's already there, tossing stones one after another, watching the ripples spread.
"Why the lake?" I ask.
He shrugs. "Because it reminds me that even the smallest pebble can cause waves."
We sit side by side, silence settling comfortably between us.
---
"Do you ever think about what comes after healing?" I ask.
He pauses. "Sometimes I think healing isn't a destination. It's learning to live with the scars. To carry them without letting them break you."
His voice softens. "I want to believe I can get there. But some days, I feel lost."
I nod, feeling the weight of those words.
"Me too," I say. "But maybe the journey is what matters."
---
We share stories—some funny, some raw—until the sun dips low.
For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.
Not as a broken girl.
Not as someone who vanished.
But as someone who's beginning to breathe again.
---
That night, a message lights up my phone:
*Nene:* *"You're glowing. Not because you're happy. Because you're healing."*
I smile, tuck my journal close, and whisper to the dark:
*"One day at a time."*
---