PeakWEST - 5 : Vessel

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟹𝟾 - 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜

The group, now bound together by promises of unwavering support, decided to take a deeper step into solidifying their unity.

Alan, glancing at the close circle around him, softly suggested,

“Why don’t we share our pasts with each other? It feels like we all have stories we’ve been holding onto.”

Wasime, who had been quietly listening, felt a stir in her heart.

She hesitated, looking around at her friends’ faces—each expression warm and patient.

She had kept her story buried for so long that speaking it out loud seemed unimaginable.

But here, with people who cared, she felt it was finally time. Taking a shaky breath, she began.

“When I was young, my family… my parents—they weren’t like the loving families you hear about. I was raised in a house filled with anger, where I always felt I was walking on eggshells. My parents fought almost daily, sometimes about money, other times just to take out their frustrations. And they… they would take it out on me, too.”

Her voice wavered as memories rushed back, the buried pain beginning to surface.

The group watched her in silence, but their eyes were filled with compassion.

Deepika reached over, gently placing a hand on Wasime’s shoulder, grounding her as she continued.

“I felt so alone growing up, constantly afraid, feeling like I wasn’t worth anything. I’d get blamed for things that weren’t even my fault. And the worst part was, I started to believe that I deserved it. That I was… I was just a burden. No one should ever feel that way. But I did. And it’s been hard, even now, to shake that feeling off.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, but more followed.

San leaned forward, whispering gently, “It’s okay, Wasime. You don’t have to hide how you feel. Not here. We’re here for you.”

Encouraged by San’s words, Wasime felt a wave of relief wash over her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, then continued,

“I remember, back in school, I’d watch other kids and their parents. They looked so happy, so safe. I would wonder if I’d ever have that. And now, sometimes, I still feel broken… like those days left scars I can’t seem to heal.”

Her friends listened intently, their faces reflecting empathy and understanding.

Marlene, who always carried an air of strength, now softened, her expression filled with concern.

“Wasime, you’re not broken. You’re one of the strongest people I know,”

she said, her voice gentle but firm.

“You survived that, and you’re still here, standing strong with us.”

Alan, his eyes misty, added,

“We all have scars, Wasime. But they don’t make us less—if anything, they show how resilient we are. And you… you’re incredible.”

Wasime’s tears now flowed freely, and she allowed herself to cry openly, feeling safe and understood.

Deepika wrapped her arms around Wasime, drawing her into a warm hug.

The others followed, creating a cocoon of comfort and love around her.

They stayed like that, silently holding onto each other, letting Wasime know she was no longer alone.

For the first time in her life, Wasime felt the warmth of family, the security of people who cared deeply for her.