Why?
Why do I feel like this?
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead, questions swirling in my head like a storm that wouldn't subside.
Why?
Why?
Why?
I pressed my hand against my chest.
It hurts.
Not really.
Or maybe it is.
I don't know.
All I know is that something is pressing so hard on my heart that I can barely breathe.
I want to cry.
I desperately want to.
But even the tears refuse to come.
It's as if my body has decided to torture me in its own way.
I picked up my phone for the tenth time in minutes.
No messages.
No calls.
Nothing.
I turned the screen off.
Then I turned it back on.
Then I turned it off.
Then I turned it back on.
As if repeating it enough would change the outcome.
But it didn't.
Michael is still busy.
He's still gone.
He's still far away.
I slammed the phone down beside me.
"This is ridiculous..."
I whispered to myself.
He's working.
I know that.
I've known it from the start.
I know he's working two jobs.
I know he's tired.
But I feel lonely.
But...
His work has always been a part of him.
A part of his life.
A part of who he is.
So why do I feel like I've been left alone?
Why does the house seem bigger when he's not here?
Why does the silence feel so loud?
I stood up and started pacing the room.
One step.
Two steps.
Three.
Then I went back.
Then I did it again.
As if pacing would help me escape my thoughts.
But she was faster than me.
Always faster than me.
Should I ask him?
I stopped abruptly.
The question popped into my head out of nowhere.
Should I ask him?
About what?
About everything.
About his family.
About his life.
About his past.
About the things I don't know.
About the things he might not want to tell me.
About the people he knew before me.
About the people who are still in his life.
About his contacts.
His relationships.
His wealth.
His secrets.
Everything.
Do I have a right to know?
Or will it just push him away?
I bit my lip hard.
I don't like this feeling.
This feeling that makes me look weak.
Or dependent.
Or scared.
But I was scared.
More scared than I wanted to admit.
Because I was starting to get used to him.
Starting to get used to his presence.
His voice.
His footsteps. His presence.
And even his absence for a few hours was enough to turn my head into a battlefield.
I laughed suddenly.
A short, broken laugh.
"I'm crazy..."
I whispered.
But even that wasn't enough.
Because part of me knew the problem wasn't his being busy.
The problem was my fear.
My fear of waking up one day and discovering that none of this was real.
Overwhelmed by the cold air.
That I'd wake up and find myself alone again.
Like I always had been.
I sat on the floor and leaned my back against the bed.
I stared at the ceiling.
The room was dark.
Quiet.
Cold.
Even though it wasn't actually cold.
Am I making a big deal out of it?
Maybe.
Am I exaggerating?
Probably.
But feelings don't ask permission before they arrive.
And they don't listen to logic once they're here.
I closed my eyes.
Then a new name popped into my head.
Do-hyun.
I sighed.
Do-hyun.
Should I ask him?
He knows Michael better than I do.
He's known him for years.
He knows things I don't.
He knows how he thinks.
How he gets angry.
How he's afraid.
How he lives.
But...
He's his friend.
And at the same time...
He's like an older brother to me.
The only person I can go to when I'm lost.
But what would I say?
Hi, Do-hyun.
I've been sitting on the floor for an hour because Michael's busy, and I feel like the world is falling apart.
Does that make sense?
I buried my face in my hands.
Oh my God.
Even I can't stand myself right now.
Minutes dragged on.
Or maybe hours.
I don't know anymore.
All I know is that my head wouldn't stop thinking.
Every possibility turned into ten.
And every question into a hundred.
Is he okay?
Did something happen?
Is he avoiding me?
Am I annoying?
Did I say something wrong?
Did I do something wrong?
Does he still love me like he used to?
Has anything changed?
Have I changed?
Questions.
Questions.
Endless questions.
And the worst part was, I had no answers.
I finally felt the heat of tears behind my eyes.
And for the first time since this whole mess began, I allowed myself to stop fighting.
One tear slid down my cheek.
Then another.
Then another.
It wasn't violent crying.
Just sad.
Quiet.
The kind of crying that comes when you're tired of carrying your thoughts alone.
I drew my knees to my chest.
And closed my eyes.
Maybe I don't need an argument.
Maybe I don't need answers to everything.
Maybe I don't need to dissect his entire life tonight.
What I really need...
I need him to tell me he's here.
That he hasn't disappeared.
That he hasn't left.
That he's still the same person who held my hand and promised I wouldn't be alone.
And in that moment, I realized that what I feared most wasn't the truth.
It was loneliness.
Loneliness I've lived with for so long that a part of me still expects it to return at any moment.
As if happiness were fleeting.
As if warmth could vanish the moment I closed my eyes.
So I cried.
Not because he was late.
Not because he was busy.
But because a little girl inside me is still afraid of being left behind again.