ALYONAIt had been three weeks. Three long, exhausting, suffocating weeks, and somehow I was still here, still breathing, even though everything inside me felt empty. People say heartbreak hurts, but no one warned me that it steals things—my sleep, my hunger, my smile, my voice, my will to step outside, even my desire to exist. Every day I woke up in the same room, sat by the same window, stared at the same street, and pretended to be fine whenever Mom looked at me with those worried eyes. But I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t anywhere close to fine.The truth was simple and shameful. I was waiting for him. For Alexander. For the sound of his car pulling up, for his footsteps on the porch, for his voice saying my name the way only he could. But he never came. Not once. And with every day that passed, every hour, every second that door stayed closed, something inside me cracked a little more.I didn’t cry anymore; even my tears seemed tired of me. All that remained was this silence inside me, so
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