S.P.E.L.T (Completed ✅️)

beginning is the end🍂

One Year of pain.

One year of mourning .

One year of convincing.

One year of everything I lost.

I can't believe I'm back in Portland.

After a year of therapy and a million sessions that seemed to blur together, I'm here-standing in my old bedroom, looking out at the same streets I used to walk with a completely different person I used to be.

Australia had been both an escape and a prison. My parents barely let me out of their sight for a minute, clinging to me like I might disappear if they let go. I knew they were scared, terrified even, but I needed to breathe. To feel alive again, to remember who I was before everything-before Taehyung.

I took a shaky breath and sat on my bed, eyes drifting to the old notebook on my desk. It was the one I'd filled with stories about Taehyung, stories that felt so real they were almost memories.

I'd poured my heart into those pages, capturing every look, every touch, every ache. But I'd left it unfinished, like something too painful to look at, too precious to let go.

With trembling fingers, I picked it up, flipping through until I found his name, written with the care of someone who thought words could keep a person alive. And for a second, it felt like he was still here, just out of reach.

---

Meeting my friends again was surreal, like slipping on clothes I'd outgrown but couldn't bear to throw away. We gathered at our usual spot, and for a while, it was like nothing had changed. We laughed, we talked, we fell into that rhythm we had always known.

"I heard Yeonjun got a job at KPMG," I said, grinning as I nudged him. "Finally going corporate, huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. At least I'm not out here modifying cars like Jake and Ricky."

Jake leaned back, throwing his arm around Ricky. "Hey, modifying cars is a respectable career. Right, Ricky?"

"Absolutely," Ricky said, flashing a grin. "Plus, we get to work together every day. What could be better?"

Tessa, always the quiet one, was studying me with that knowing look she'd perfected over the years. "I'm switching to psychology," she said, her voice soft. "And, you know, maybe some therapy classes. I guess we all changed a little."

I guessed it was her way of dealing with guilt, for bullying me but her character development was enough for me to forgive her.
She didn't need to feel guilty around me anymore.

She had been the one texting me the most , if only I were more available...

Yeonjun was second and the rest counted third.

They did care . Even after a huge distance and time Gap.

We all fell silent, an unspoken name lingering in the air. But no one mentioned him. No one said his name. To them, Taehyung was a closed chapter, someone to leave behind, someone no longer part of our world. But to me... to me, he was still everywhere.

---

One afternoon, Tessa stopped by my place, her laughter filling my quiet space like sunlight. As we talked, her eyes landed on the notebook resting on my desk.

"Is that...?" she began, hesitating, as though the wrong word might shatter something fragile.

I nodded. "Yeah. I used to write this one in college, never finished it."

She looked at me, compassion in her eyes. "You know... maybe it'd help if you did. Finish it, give it an ending. Set it free."

At first, I thought I'd ignore her advice, leave those memories untouched. But something inside me wouldn't let it go. Maybe I owed it to myself-to Taehyung-to finish the story. To give it the ending it deserved, even if that meant finally letting him go.

So I wrote. I stayed up late, pouring every emotion, every memory into those pages. The pain, the love, the heartbreak-it all bled through the ink. I wrote until there was nothing left inside me. And when it was finally done, I felt lighter, like a weight I'd carried for too long had finally been lifted.

---

Months later, the story was out in the world. To my surprise, it resonated with people. Messages flooded in, readers who saw themselves in my words, who felt connected to this painful, beautiful story. It was healing in a way I hadn't expected, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt free.

Then came the invitation from my college. They wanted me to speak as a successful alumna, to share my journey with students who might one day be where I once was.

---

The auditorium was packed, rows and rows of faces looking up at me, wide-eyed and waiting. I clutched the edges of the podium, feeling both exposed and powerful.

"Hi," I began, my voice shaking a little but growing steadier. "I'm Tamrah, and... a year ago, I didn't know who I was anymore. But I learned that sometimes, letting go of everything, even the people and places that mean the most to you, is the only way to find yourself."

I paused, glancing over the crowd, feeling the weight of my own words. "When I lost everything, I thought that was the end. But it was just the beginning. And I found a piece of myself in writing. Somehow, putting everything I felt, everything I couldn't say, into words gave me my life back."

I felt tears welling up, but I didn't fight them. "So if any of you are going through something like that, remember-sometimes it's okay to fall apart, to feel lost. Because when you're ready, you'll find your way back."

The applause was overwhelming. I stepped off the stage, my heart thudding, my chest tight with emotion. I felt raw, exposed, but strangely at peace.

---

Later, I watched the footage, letting it sink in. As the camera panned across the room, capturing the faces in the crowd, I saw something-someone-who made my breath catch.

There, standing by the window at the far end of the hall, hidden in shadows, was a face I knew all too well.

Taehyung.

My heart stuttered, my pulse quickening as I stared at him on the screen. He hadn't been in the room with everyone else, hadn't joined in the applause. But he was there, watching, as if he was part of the crowd yet not. I couldn't tell if it was pride in his eyes or something deeper, something unspoken. But he was there, as real as he had ever been.

I lifted my fingers to the screen, tracing the faint image of his face.

How is this possible???

Wasn't he gone?

And in that moment, I knew that my story-our story-wasn't finished. It was there, in the shadows, waiting for me to bring it to life, not in words but in living.

Maybe this was the ending. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the beginning.