The silence between us stretched, but for once, it wasn’t suffocating. It was calm, steady, like the ocean after a storm. Noah didn’t let go of my hand, and I didn’t pull away. For the first time in a long time, I let myself hold on.

After what felt like forever, I finally spoke. “I don’t know how to start again, Noah. I don’t even know where to begin.”

He squeezed my hand gently. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. Just take one step at a time.”

I let out a shaky breath. One step at a time. It sounded so simple, yet it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

Noah glanced around my room, his eyes landing on the half-empty coffee cup on my desk, the scattered papers, the closed curtains. His expression softened, but there was something else there too—determination.

“Okay,” he said, standing up suddenly. “First step—let’s get some fresh air.”

I frowned. “What?”

“You’ve been stuck in this room too long,” he said simply, reaching for the curtains. Before I could protest, he pulled them open, and light flooded the space. I flinched at the sudden brightness, blinking as if I hadn’t seen daylight in weeks. Maybe I hadn’t.

“Noah—”

“No arguments,” he interrupted, turning back to face me. “Just one step, remember? Come outside with me. Just for a little while.”

I hesitated. The thought of stepping outside, of facing the world again, sent a ripple of anxiety through me. But then I looked at Noah—at the way he was standing there, patient but firm, like he wasn’t going to let me drown in this darkness any longer.

And maybe… just maybe, I didn’t want to drown anymore either.

“Okay,” I whispered.

A small smile touched his lips, like he knew how much that one word had cost me. He stepped back, giving me space as I slowly got up from the couch. My legs felt unsteady, my heart pounding in my chest. But I kept moving.

One step at a time.

We walked outside, the cool evening air brushing against my skin. I hadn’t realized how much I had missed the sky, the way the world felt so open compared to the four walls of my room. The sun was setting, streaks of pink and orange stretching across the horizon, and for a moment, I just stood there, breathing it in.

Noah didn’t say anything. He just stood beside me, his presence steady, grounding.

I glanced at him. “Why do you care so much?”

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes serious. “Because you matter.”

I swallowed, my throat tight. “Even when I push you away?”

“Even then.”

A lump formed in my throat, but this time, it wasn’t from pain. It was something else. Something I wasn’t sure I had felt in a long time.

Hope.

I didn’t know what would happen next. I didn’t know if I would wake up tomorrow feeling the same weight in my chest, or if I would fall back into old habits. But right now, in this moment, standing beneath the setting sun with Noah beside me—I didn’t feel so alone.

Maybe healing wasn’t about fixing everything at once.

Maybe it was just about taking the first step.

And for the first time in a long time, I was willing to try.

I sat alone, the empty room a reflection of how I felt inside. It felt like the world was spinning, yet I was stuck in the same place. The same broken piece of myself, unable to move forward. My mind raced with questions that had no answers.

I had spent my life trying to fix things—trying to fix people, trying to fix myself. But every step I took only seemed to make things worse. The more I tried, the more I lost. And now... now I was alone.

I couldn’t understand what had happened. One moment, everything had seemed fine. I had been surrounded by people I thought I could trust. Friends, family, people I had given my heart to. But somehow, I was always the one left behind.

Was it me? Was I the reason for all this pain?

I could see their faces—those who once cared, who once called me their own. They had all turned their backs on me, one by one. No explanation, no apology, just the cold sting of betrayal.

Why did they leave me?

I tried to reach out, to explain myself, but the words felt hollow. What could I say? How could I make them understand the mess I had created?

But in the quiet of my room, I knew the truth. The truth I had been running from for so long. I was the problem.

I had always been the problem.

I had pushed them away with my doubts, my fears, my insecurities. I had let my own pain blind me to the people who cared. Every time I pulled away, every time I kept my distance, I only pushed them further.

And now they were gone.

I wanted to scream, to yell at the unfairness of it all. But instead, I sat in silence, letting the weight of my own guilt consume me. I was the one who had let everything slip away. I was the one who had let them down.

And the worst part? I didn’t even know how to fix it.

Am I the problem?

There was no one left to ask. No one who cared enough to give an answer. And that... that was the most painful realization of all.

Maybe I wasn't just the problem. Maybe I was the one who had destroyed everything I had ever loved.

I closed my eyes, the tears threatening to fall, but I couldn’t bring myself to let them go. The pain felt too deep. Too raw.

The problem wasn’t just the people I had lost. The problem was me.

And now, I had to live with it.

Well this is what I wanted to write for so long. The feeling of the character. How she turned from playful, Chaotic, dramatic troublemaker to an isolated, depressed person. This happened because of a certain accident in her life. And I am writing this information because I didn't reach the word requirement 😃. I ain't the type to give spoiler so deal with this hehehe~(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ᴥ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ⁠ʋ⁠)

The clock ticked loudly in the background, each second echoing the emptiness inside me. I had spent so many years trying to be perfect for everyone else, but what did it get me? Empty promises. Broken relationships. And a heart that seemed to have lost the capacity to heal.

I looked at the picture frame on the shelf, the one with all of us—laughing, happy, carefree. The version of me who believed in love, in trust, in the people around me. That person was gone now. She had been replaced by this hollow shell who couldn’t even recognize herself anymore.

What happened to me?

I used to believe in the goodness of people. I used to trust without question. But somewhere along the way, I lost that. I became someone who second-guessed every word, every gesture, every look. I doubted the intentions of the very people who had once made me feel safe.

And they? They grew tired. Tired of the constant need for reassurance, tired of the walls I built up around myself. They left. They walked away, one by one, like shadows fading into the distance.

I couldn’t shake the thought. Maybe if I had been different. If I had been stronger. If I had been braver, they wouldn’t have left.

Maybe it wasn’t them at all. Maybe it was always me.

I picked up my phone, scrolling through messages that had long since been ignored. There were so many apologies, so many attempts to bridge the gap that I had created, but I couldn’t bring myself to respond. The guilt weighed me down, chaining me to this feeling of worthlessness.

I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t face the reality of what I had become.

But as I stared at the screen, a thought flashed through my mind.

What if they were right? What if everything they said about me—the coldness, the distance, the constant push and pull—was true? What if I really was the problem?

A message notification popped up from Noah.

"Are you okay? I miss you. We need to talk."

I stared at those words. He was one of the few who hadn’t completely abandoned me. But even he was drifting, his words laced with concern and frustration. How long could he keep putting up with this?

Was he tired of me too?

I opened the message and started typing, but nothing came out. I wanted to tell him everything, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to explain this pain, this emptiness that consumed me every day. How could I tell him that I was too broken to be fixed?

I dropped the phone back onto the bed, my hands shaking.

The silence returned, but this time it felt heavier. More suffocating. The quiet was louder now, reminding me of all the things I had lost.

I knew the answer now. I had to face it. I had been the problem all along.

But what terrified me the most was that, no matter how much I tried to change, it felt like this was who I was. This was the version of me that people saw—the one who pushed them away, the one who could never be enough.

And deep down, I knew there was no going back.

The damage had been done.

And all I was left with was the question: Am I the problem?

And the answer? It haunted me.

Yes. I am the problem. It has always been me.....