WHEN OUR EYES MEET

While Blake was away, something within me began to quietly crumble. At first, I tried to ignore it, to distract myself, convincing myself that this was just temporary, that he would come back. But as days turned into weeks, the emptiness he left behind became impossible to ignore. It wasn't just the longing; it was the uncertainty. The fear that maybe he'd never return the same.

I found myself trapped in a routine that once offered me comfort but now felt like nothing more than a distraction. The bookstore, which had always been my refuge, became a place where each silence was deafening. Every time the door chime rang, my heart raced, hoping it was Blake. But it wasn't. It never was.

Mornings became a struggle to get out of bed. The weight in my chest was constant, as if something invisible was pulling me down. I woke up exhausted, even after a full night's sleep—not that I slept well. My nights were long, full of thoughts and confusing dreams where Blake's face would appear and disappear, always slipping out of my reach.

With each new message he sent, I wondered what he was really doing. How he was dealing with his own demons while mine were growing inside me. I knew he was trying to keep some kind of connection, but those words on the screen couldn't fill the void he left behind. I would read his messages, sometimes two, three times, searching for some sign that he'd be back soon. "I'm thinking of you," he'd say. But thinking of me wasn't enough. I needed him here, for real.

Days at the bookstore dragged on. I tried to focus on customers, on the flow of the day, but my mind was always somewhere else. When no one was around, I'd find myself sitting behind the counter, staring at the door, waiting for something to happen, anything to break the suffocating silence. The shelves, which once brought me peace, now felt like endless labyrinths where I was always getting lost. I would reorganize the books—not because they needed it, but because it gave me the illusion of control. Controlling something, anything, made me feel a little less powerless.

But it was only an illusion. The truth was that, while I was trying to organize the world around me, my inner world was collapsing. My anxiety was coming back, and I recognized the signs. The trembling hands, the racing heart for no apparent reason, the shallow and quick breaths. And deep down, I knew what was happening. I had been here before. I knew what it meant when the body starts signaling that something is wrong, that the control you think you have is slipping through your fingers.

Feelings on Edge

I didn't talk about it with anyone. Josh, of course, noticed that something was wrong, but I refused to admit to him just how lost I was. How could I say that Blake's absence was tearing me apart in a way I couldn't control? How could I admit that, no matter how hard I tried to be strong, I was drowning?

Some days I managed to put on a brave face, smile, act like everything was fine. But at night, when the bookstore lights went out and I was alone, it all came back. The darkness of my room seemed to amplify my thoughts, making it impossible to escape them. The pain of losing my mother, which I thought I had overcome, came back in full force. The responsibility of caring for Oliver, the pressure to be strong for everyone, was crushing me. And now, with Blake gone, the only person who seemed to understand my soul, I felt like I was falling into a bottomless pit.

Blake's messages, though meant to be comforting, often had the opposite effect. I'd read his words, try to believe in them, but there was always something missing. I knew he was trying, I knew he was dealing with his own chaos, but I couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment. What if he didn't come back? And if he did, what if it was already too late? Each day, my mind filled with questions that had no answers.