The Girl in the Mirror

They say time heals everything.

But no one tells you what happens before time begins to heal.

The morning after our goodbye, I stood in front of the mirror for several minutes, staring at the girl looking back at me. Her eyes were swollen from crying. Her smile was gone. Even the way she stood felt different.

I barely recognized her.

"You're going to be late," my mother called from downstairs.

"I'm coming."

I grabbed my bag and forced myself to leave my room. I kept telling myself it was just another school day. Just another morning.

But nothing felt ordinary anymore.

The moment I entered the classroom, I could feel everyone's eyes following me. Maybe I was only imagining it. Maybe they weren't looking at me at all.

Heartbreak has a way of making you believe everyone can see the cracks inside you.

My best friend, Mia, immediately noticed something was wrong.

"You didn't sleep, did you?"

I smiled, but it was the kind of smile that only moved my lips.

"I'm okay."

She sighed.

"You've said that three times already."

I looked down at my desk.

The truth was, I didn't know how to explain the kind of pain I was carrying. How could I tell someone that the person who made me happiest had become the reason I dreaded waking up every morning?

Classes passed like a blur. I copied notes without reading them. I answered questions without hearing them. When the lunch bell rang, I stayed inside the classroom while everyone else went to the cafeteria.

I wasn't hungry.

I wasn't anything.

I was simply existing.

That afternoon, my phone vibrated.

For one foolish second, I hoped it wasn't him.

For another foolish second, I hoped it was.

It was his name.

Can we please talk again?

I stared at the message until the screen turned dark.

Then another came.

I'm sorry. Please don't ignore me.

A tear rolled down my cheek before I quickly wiped it away.

I wanted to reply.

I wanted to ask him why.

I wanted him to somehow undo everything.

Instead, I turned my phone off and slipped it into my bag.

Some conversations only reopen wounds that are trying to close.

When I arrived home that evening, I locked myself in my room.

The silence was unbearable.

Every corner reminded me of him.

The stuffed toy he won for me at the town festival sat on my shelf.

The handwritten letters he gave me were tucked inside my drawer.

The dried flower he once placed between the pages of my notebook had turned brown, yet I couldn't bring myself to throw it away.

I gathered everything into a small box.

Our photos.

His letters.

Movie tickets.

Birthday cards.

Memories of a love I thought would last forever.

I closed the lid and slid the box beneath my bed.

I wasn't ready to throw it away.

But I couldn't bear to look at it anymore.

That night, I cried until I had no tears left.

For the first time, I realized that losing someone isn't always about watching them walk away.

Sometimes, they stay alive.

They continue smiling.

They continue living.

But they no longer belong in your life.

And somehow...

That hurts even more.

As I closed my eyes, I whispered a quiet promise to myself.

"I'll survive this."

I didn't believe those words yet.

But they were the only hope I had.

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