A Gentle Collision

Chapter 23

The sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting soft streaks across Freen’s room as she woke up. The quiet hum of the morning felt different today—there was something about it, something off. She couldn’t place it, but her thoughts were already on Becky. She’d been feeling giddy all morning, a lightness in her chest as she thought about the usual rhythm of their days together. It had become a routine she could look forward to—Becky’s smile, the playful teasing, the unspoken comfort between them.

Her father had left early, and Freen took that as her cue to prepare herself. She threw on a casual outfit, smoothing down the fabric with quick, excited movements. Today was supposed to be another day with Becky, and she couldn’t wait to see her.

But as the hours passed, things didn’t unfold the way she expected.

Becky didn’t come.

Freen tried not to let it bother her at first, thinking maybe there was something important Becky had to do. But as the minutes turned into hours, that tightness in her chest began to spread.

She waited.

She checked her phone again. No messages. No calls.

It was unlike Becky to just not show up, to not at least let her know. Freen paced around the house, glancing at the clock every few seconds, the hope growing faint but still lingering in the back of her mind. Maybe she was just busy.

An hour passed. Then two. Still nothing. The longer she waited, the more her heart sank.

Freen felt a strange heaviness wash over her, something she hadn’t experienced in a while. The emptiness she thought she had left behind seemed to return with a vengeance. It was stupid, really. She knew it. But it didn’t stop the rush of emotion that gripped her.

Her mind wandered back to everything that had happened in the past month—the laughter, the closeness, the way Becky had made her feel like she wasn’t invisible. But now, as the clock ticked past the afternoon, Freen felt all of that slipping through her fingers, slipping away like sand in an hourglass.

Her eyes welled up with tears, and before she knew it, she was sitting on her bed, her hands trembling. She didn’t know why, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She tried to push them down, to hold them back, but the weight of the moment was too much. She felt the sting in her chest—the loneliness, the worry, the fear that maybe Becky had finally decided that she was too much, that Freen was nothing more than a burden.

She crawled into her bed, clutching her pillow to her chest as sobs racked her body. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She didn’t want to feel this way, but it had all built up—this suffocating pressure that was threatening to consume her.

Somewhere between the sobs, she drifted off to sleep.

She woke with a jolt.

Her father’s voice echoed from downstairs, a sharp, irritated shout that made Freen’s heart race in panic. “Freen!”

She scrambled to sit up, her mind still foggy from the tears. In her rush to get out of bed, she didn’t see the small rug on the floor, and her foot caught on the edge. She tumbled forward, pain shooting up her leg as she landed awkwardly on the floor.

“Damn it!” she hissed, clutching her ankle, but the pain was nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of dread filling her chest.

She heard her father’s footsteps grow louder as he climbed up the stairs. His figure appeared in the doorway, his eyes narrowing when he saw her on the floor.

“Are you really this careless?” he spat, his tone cold and detached. “Get up.”

Freen bit her lip, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. “I’m fine,” she muttered, trying to stand, but her ankle gave way, and she crumpled back to the floor.

Her father didn’t seem to care. With a dismissive glance, he turned and left her there, the door slamming behind him.

Freen sat there for a while, the pain in her ankle nothing compared to the emptiness gnawing at her heart. The silence in the house felt deafening, and she couldn’t stop the feeling that something was wrong, something she couldn’t explain.

She knew, deep down, that her father’s indifference wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t his fault, not really. It was the loneliness that had crept back in, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, Becky wasn’t coming anymore. Maybe today was just a bad day. Maybe something had happened.

She dragged herself to her feet, limping toward the couch, where she collapsed in exhaustion. Her head was spinning with thoughts of Becky—her smile, the way her hand fit perfectly into hers, the softness of her voice when she teased Freen.

It felt like it had been forever since they’d been together, like she was losing the only thing that had made her feel alive.

But maybe tomorrow would be better.

Maybe tomorrow Becky would be there, like she always had been. Maybe everything was just a mistake, and things would go back to normal. She could still feel the warmth of Becky’s touch, the way they had laughed together the day before, the way it had felt to just be near her.

Freen closed her eyes, willing herself to believe it, to convince herself that tomorrow would be okay.

The door to her room creaked open, and she looked up, half-hoping, half-afraid. But it was only her father, coming in to throw a half-hearted glance her way.

“I’m going to bed,” he said, his tone dismissive as always.

Freen didn’t respond. She just nodded, her gaze focused on the window, where the sky was beginning to turn dark.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow would be better.

She just had to wait.