champagne problems

35

Engfa's POV:

How have you been?

It's such a simple question, yet it feels like a weight pressing down on my chest every time I hear it. It's like a broken record, playing on repeat, echoing in the depths of my mind. And no matter how many times I try to ignore it, it always finds a way to resurface, haunting me like a relentless ghost.

I've grown weary of it, tired of having to plaster on a fake smile and give the same scripted response over and over again.

Upon being asked by this haunting question, I would just sigh heavily and look away, focusing on something uninteresting in front of me.

I'm managing was what I always said. It's not completely a lie, but it's not completely true as well.

I don't know, I am getting tired. I want to give up, but I can't bring myself to do it. It felt like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff, teetering on the brink of exhaustion, yet unable to take that final leap into surrender. That's where I am right now. The weight of longing presses down on me like an invisible force, draining me of every last ounce of energy. It's like a relentless storm, battering against the walls of my resolve, threatening to break me apart.

I want to give up-I really do. Sometimes it feels like the easiest thing in the world, to just let go and allow myself to be consumed by the emptiness that surrounds me. But no matter how tired I get, no matter how much I ache for relief, I can't bring myself to do it.

A part of me is still hoping, and I hold onto that hope like a lifeline, clinging to the belief that everything will be alright in the end.

That's how it is anyway. I hope.

The unexpected knock echoed through the stillness of my home, jolting me from my reverie. Confusion clouded my thoughts as I made my way to the door, hesitating before reaching for the handle.

"Who is it?" I called out, my voice tinged with uncertainty, but the silence that followed only deepened my confusion. No response came, leaving me standing there, wondering who could be on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" I asked once again, then a faint, muffled voice came from the other side.

"It's me,"

That voice, I wouldn't mistaken it for anyone else's. A smile slowly crept up on my lips as I turned the knob quickly.

"Pich," I greeted and pulled the other woman into a tight embrace, "You didn't even tell me you're visiting! I thought you'd be back next week, I would've fetch you myself in the airport,"

I pulled her inside my apartment, Pich's smile went wider and wider as I rambled on about nonsense.

"Where's the fun in there? I wanted to surprise you. You didn't know what Freen did to the two rascals just so they won't spoil my fun," Pich laughed as we came to sit in my couch.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to know the brutal details,"

We shared a laugh, catching up with the old times and what we had missed throughout the years we've been absent with each other's lives.

Phalo, upon hearing an unfamiliar voice, immediately hopped through her hiding spot behind the curtains.

"Is that your rabbit? oh wow, I didn't know she's that big! I thought she's a dog,"

"Oh, well, she's a chubby bunny now. Been spoiling her with treats for a while now."

"I want to congratulate you for your award. Who would've thought that the once shy and tamed Engfa Waraha from the humble, sleepy town of Camden would later be recognized as the Artist of the Year?"