𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐃𝐄 ~ | 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘓𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘳𝘤

I

Chapter One:

~  Delulu may not be solulu, Your Honour ~

I feel empty.

And I know that I shouldn't still be feeling this way, but here I am, two months later, feeling as if the world is still spinning just a bit too fast.

The ache has lessened, sure, but it's still there. It fills the space between my ribs and my heart, reminding me that moving on doesn't mean forgetting. It's like trying to learn to breathe again after holding your breath for too long; you know you can do it, but your lungs aren't quite convinced yet.

The days have morphed into weeks, weeks into months, and the pain has transformed into something more... manageable. It's like a scar that's still tender when you press it, but doesn't scream out in protest anymore.

I've found myself again in the quiet moments, the ones where my thoughts aren't overtaken by the whirlwind of what ifs and could-have-beens.

I think of him less now.

It's like my brain has finally accepted that he's not coming back.

I've started to realize that I don't want him to come back, not really. What I miss is the idea of him, the person I thought he was, the person I wanted him to be.

The person I made him out to be, the person I clung to, was a mirage. A shimmering reflection of what I needed, rather than the cold, hard reality.

I wonder if he ever knew how much he meant to me. If he could see the wreckage he left behind when he chose to hurt me. But that's the thing about people, isn't it? They never truly understand the depth of their impact, not until they're standing on the edge of it, looking down.

I've started to realize that maybe I didn't know him at all. Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see, painting him in the colors of my own imagination.

And that's the scary part.

The part where I have to face the fact that I might have been wrong about him. That maybe, just maybe, I've been holding onto a ghost, a figment of my own desperate need for love and companionship.

But the scar is still there, a silent reminder of what was and what could never be. And even though it's fading, it's still a part of me, a part of my story.

It's a story that's still being written, and I'm not entirely sure where it's going.

But for the first time in a long time, I'm okay with that.

I'm okay with not knowing.

Because the future is a blank canvas, and I'm the one holding the brush. And I've learned that sometimes, the best art comes from the most unexpected strokes.

So, I'll keep painting, even when my hand shakes and the colors run.

The quiet moments are the ones that scare me the most.

They're the times when my mind can't be distracted by the humdrum of the day. When the silence is so loud, it feels like it's pressing down on me, trying to suffocate the newfound air in my lungs.

Those moments when I'm not talking to anyone, not even my own thoughts, just listening to the sound of my heart beating in my chest. The anger has subsided, the hurt has dulled, and all that's left is a sort of sadness.

"Do you ever think about how big the world is?" Sabrina asked suddenly, her eyes never looking away from the breathtaking view before us.

She had brought us here about an hours ago. I had never even realized it existed until now, and from now, it was my favorite lookout of our home. The Monaco bay stretched out in front of us, the Mediterranean Sea glistening like liquid sapphire under the setting sun. Yachts bobbed gently on the water, their sails billowing in the wind like wings.