Y/N's POV:
The rain hammered against the windowpane, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the glass.
It was the kind of rain that made you want to curl up under a blanket, a mug of hot chocolate in hand, and simply let the world wash away.
But right now, the rain felt like a reflection of my own inner turmoil. I was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of me, the milk curdling around the soggy flakes.
My phone buzzed with a notification, a text from Haerin, my girlfriend. "You okay, babe? You haven't been yourself lately." The words were simple, a gentle nudge. But for me, they were a reminder of the storm raging inside.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I typed back, forcing a smile that felt unnatural even to me.
"You sure? You seem distant," she replied, her message almost instantaneous.
"Just a little stressed," I typed, hoping it sounded casual enough.
"About what? You can tell me," she insisted.
I hesitated. How much could I tell her?
My world had been turned upside down, and the truth was, I didn't even know how to process it myself.
The company I'd been working for, the one I thought was my future, had gone under. I'd lost my job, my sense of security, and, worst of all, my sense of self.
The future I'd envisioned, the one I'd meticulously planned for, had crumbled into dust.
I glanced at the phone, the unopened message staring back at me accusingly.
I couldn't lie to her, not anymore. But I didn't know how to tell her everything.
All the fear, all the uncertainty, the feeling that the rug had been pulled out from under my feet, leaving me clinging to the edge of a bottomless abyss.
Finally, I swallowed hard and typed, "I lost my job."
The notification tone chirped, but there was no immediate response. A wave of dread washed over me. Had I scared her off? Was this too much to handle?
Then, a few seconds later, her message appeared, "Oh honey, I'm so sorry. I'm here for you, whatever you need. Don't worry about anything."
Relief flooded me, a warm wave washing away the mounting tension. "Thank you," I replied, unable to express the gratitude that swelled inside me.
We talked for a long time that night, me confessing my anxieties and fears, my struggles with finding my footing in this new, uncertain reality.
She listened patiently, offering words of encouragement, reminding me that this wasn't the end, just a bend in the road.
"No one prepares you for the way in which things change," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm on my frayed nerves.
"I know," I whispered, feeling the weight of her words settle on my shoulders.
"But you know what?" She continued, her voice tinged with an optimistic lilt that I desperately needed. "You're strong, Y/N. You've overcome challenges before, and you'll overcome this one too. I'll be here every step of the way."
Her words were like a lifeline, pulling me back from the edge of the abyss. She wasn’t just there for me in this moment.
She was there for me, period.
That's what I loved about her, her unwavering faith in me, her belief in my resilience even when I doubted myself.
The storm outside gradually subsided, replaced by a gentle drizzle that gently kissed the windowpane.
