The morning sun poured through the blinds, spilling golden light into Adaora's apartment. She watched the dust motes drift lazily in the air, each tiny speck dancing in the light, free and careless. She used to love mornings like this—when the day felt fresh, alive with promise. But now, sunlight felt cruel. The brightness mocked her, as if the universe had decided her grief was irrelevant.
With heavy reluctance, she dressed and followed Adriella outside. Adriella had insisted, gently but firmly, that she couldn't stay trapped within four walls forever. "You need to breathe again, Ada. Even if it hurts."
They stepped into the busy street, and the world immediately felt overwhelming. Everything was happening at once—children racing each other, a woman selling roasted corn, a bus conductor yelling destinations at the top of his lungs. Two men argued over the price of yams, their voices sharp but not unfriendly. A young girl walked past with braids swinging, laughing into her phone.
Life. Loud, relentless life.
Adaora's steps were slow, her arms wrapped around herself as though she could hold the broken pieces in place. Her eyes scanned the crowd. No one looked at her twice. No one noticed the storm raging inside her chest.
It felt impossible.
How could the world move on when hers had stopped?
She thought of the night Tobi had left. She had lain awake, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the sky to crack open, for thunder to roar, for the universe to show that it understood her loss. But morning had come, ordinary and unbothered. The birds had still sung. The neighbors had still gone to work. The sun had still risen, indifferent to her heartbreak.
And here she was, weeks later, still bleeding silently while everyone else laughed, bargained, and lived.
A loud honk startled her as a motorbike swerved past. The rider muttered angrily at a pedestrian, who barely flinched. Adaora froze in place, her chest tightening. The world was loud, too loud, moving at a pace she couldn't match.
Adriella placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"
Adaora forced a nod, though her throat felt thick. "It's just… everything is so normal. Like nothing ever happened."
Adriella squeezed her shoulder. "Life doesn't pause, Ada. But that doesn't mean you have to run with it right now. You move at your own pace."
Adaora wanted to believe her, but then she saw them—a couple at a fruit stand, standing so close their shoulders touched. The young man gently tucked a strand of hair behind the woman's ear, and she smiled up at him, her whole face glowing with affection. The sight pierced Adaora's chest like a knife.
She used to know that kind of love. She used to believe hers was unshakable, that forever meant something. Now it only reminded her of what she had lost.
She tore her gaze away, but it landed on another wound. A boy ran down the street, his small legs pumping furiously as he chased a bright red balloon bobbing in the wind. His laughter was high and pure, so full of joy it felt foreign to Adaora's ears. His mother clapped from the sidewalk, calling encouragements, her face alive with pride. When the boy finally caught the string, he squealed with triumph, hugging it as though he had just won the world.
Adaora's throat tightened. It wasn't the child that broke her, but the reminder that joy was still possible in this world—just not for her. Not yet.
She whispered under her breath, more to herself than anyone:
"Doesn't anyone else know what it feels like? To have your whole world ripped apart while theirs just keeps going?"
Adriella slowed her steps, her eyes softening. "People may not know your exact pain, Ada. But everyone is carrying something. Sometimes you just can't see it."
Adaora shook her head, bitterness rising. "But it feels like I'm the only one frozen. Like I'm standing still while everyone else is sprinting forward."
They reached a small park at the edge of the street, where a jacaranda tree stretched its branches toward the sky. Purple blossoms had fallen in clusters on the ground, their fragile petals crushed beneath hurried footsteps. Adaora lowered herself onto the bench beneath it, staring at the scattered flowers. They reminded her of herself—once whole, now broken and trampled by the indifference of time.
Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Sometimes I think I'm invisible. Like the world has already forgotten me. Like… like I don't matter anymore."
Adriella sat beside her, silent for a long moment before she answered. "You matter to me. Even if the world doesn't stop, I will stop for you. I'll sit here with you, for as long as it takes."
Adaora's chest cracked open at the words. She didn't cry—not yet—but her body softened, as though the bench had finally given her permission to sink into it.
A soft breeze rustled the blossoms, sending a few drifting into her lap. She brushed them with her fingertips, and for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel entirely alone. The world might keep moving, uncaring, but here—under this tree, with Adriella's hand steady in hers—she had proof that not everything had left her behind.
And maybe that was enough for now.