A walk on thorns

Chapter 28| Opening Up

MJ's POV
Back story

She falls asleep on the way to the park, her breathing slowing, softening. The rise and fall of her chest syncs with the hum of the car engine, and for a fleeting moment, peace seems to settle over her. She's been carrying something, something unseen but impossibly heavy. It's etched into her every move, every look, every faint smile that doesn't reach her eyes.

Sabrina hasn't been herself lately, and I've noticed. Of course, I've noticed. How could I not? From the moment she entered my world physically, she became a light that cascade on everything I touched. But lately, she's dimmed. The vibrance in her has dulled, her frame now smaller, more fragile, like a delicate bird weighed down by an invisible storm. I see it every time I look at her, and it terrifies me because I don't know how to fix it.

Days ago, when she brought Rubina to the park, I thought maybe it was just a phase. Maybe the pressures of social media we're all trying to navigate, were bearing down on her. But then I saw her eyes bloodshot, glassy, red-rimmed as though she'd been up all night crying. That's when I knew it wasn't just a fleeting sadness. This was deep. This was something she was fighting to keep locked away, and she was losing the battle.

I asked her about it that day. I tried to peel back her layers gently, like one would with something precious and fragile. But she shut me out, smiled that practiced, polite smile, and told me she was fine. She wasn't fine. I knew she wasn't fine. But I was too scared to push. Too scared she'd run.

Yesterday, though... Yesterday, I failed her.

I let my own demons consume me. The weight of my father's tantrums and my fractured relationship with Mommy Malika, the suffocating tension that has taken root in my house, I let it all spill over. And she bore the brunt of it. Sabrina. Hazelnut. The one person I swore I'd never hurt.

It wasn't intentional, but that doesn't make it any less unforgivable. I said things I shouldn't have, things that cut deeper than I meant. And when she didn't respond to my calls last night, when my messages went unanswered, I thought I'd lost her.

Truth be told, I've been drawn to this girl for three years, stalking her, some might say, though I'd never call it that. Watching her from a distance, memorizing the way she moves, the way she talks, the way she smiles. She's been my anchor in ways she'll never know, even before she knew my name. And now, having her here, close enough to touch, to hear, to laugh with, it's both a blessing and a curse. She's my flame, and I'm terrified of burning her.

The night was endless. I sat there in the suffocating quiet of my room, staring at the phone like it held the answers to the universe. Every time it buzzed, my heart leapt, only to plummet when it wasn't her. I called her over and over, leaving voicemails that probably made no sense. Pleading. Apologizing. Asking her to just talk to me.

This morning, when she finally called back, I didn't even let her speak before I started apologizing. My voice cracked, I know it did. I was desperate. But then I heard her voice, soft, trembling, fragile, and I realized she wasn't okay either. She said it wasn't about me, but I knew she was lying. I could hear it in the way her words broke, the way her breath hitched. She was crying again.

I couldn't stand it. I couldn't sit there knowing she was hurting and doing nothing. So I offered to pick her up. She hesitated, I could hear the conflict in her silence, but she didn't refuse. And that was all the permission I needed.

When she stepped out of the house, clutching her camera like it was her lifeline, I had to remind myself to breathe. Even in her sadness, she was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Her veil framed her face perfectly, and though her eyes were swollen and tired, they still held that quiet strength that made my chest tighten.