everything you never said

04. noah

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I HAVE this theory, that all of us are born with voids in our hearts. Voids, that throughout our lives, we strive to fill. We learn to laugh, and we learn to love. We cry at old movies and blare music and read poetry. We bake, and grow herb gardens, and go on road trips. We do so much, to please our fickle hearts, to replace the emptiness of that void with longing and laughter and love. We spend our entire lives in pursuit of that feeling, that person, who completes you, and fills the void.

Some of us find it. Other's don't.

✧

THE bright, red paint of the POST OFFICE sign that once blinded my eyes was fading and chipped. I could have laughed, because the metaphor was too strong to miss. The place where I'd spent so much time in my childhood was nothing but a forgotten memory. The keys felt strange in my hand, like something that was out of place. I never was the one who opened the door, she was. Noëlle loved to.

'Are you sure we can be here?' Mina called out from behind me, hesitantly. I didn't answer. The door opened with a squeak, and Mina let out a sneeze.

Do you know what the word nostalgia really means? It's a Greek word, I had learnt, meaning 'the pain from an old wound'. It's a twinge in your heart, far more powerful than a single memory - a feeling of a place we ache for.

In my case, it wasn't a place I'd ached for, it was a person. The sight of the post office, once bustling with life and now dusted with cobwebs, was enough to make me feel everything I had tried so desperately to ignore. Every single memory I'd tried to forget, tried to shut out so precariously, was coming back to me. There's no escaping now.

'I need to go, Mina' I murmured hoarsely. Tears pricked my eyes, and before I knew what was happening, I got in to my cycle and pedalled. I pedalled hard and fast and before I knew it, I was on the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but the pain in my chest outweighed it. I felt the cold concrete on my back, and I was almost grateful. Because even lying here, with my eyes closed, all I could see was her.

Have you ever heard of Jeong? It's a Korean word that my grandfather taught me. Simply put, it means love. But Jeong is so much more than that: it is compassion, and kindness, faith, trust, and an unbreakable bond. Unconditional love. That meant that even if you fought with them every second of the day, you loved each other. Even if you grew apart over the years, you loved each other. Even if you didn't realise how terribly they were hurting, how they cried themselves to sleep every night and how badly they needed help, you loved each other. Even if they'd walked away from everything they had ever known, walked away from you, you loved each other.

My sister Noëlle was the only person I'd ever felt jeong for. And the last time I'd seen her was over a year ago.

I closed my eyes, and let it all come back to me. The good, and the bad, the devastating. The the fourteen years I'd spent with El. From kindergarten, when she stood up to bullies for me, to middle school, when she stood up to my parents for me. Some people are invisible to the world, but Noëlle could never be one of them. You couldn't help but notice her: She was always too bold, too loud, too kind to be ignored.

But the world never favoured the kind.

Even before she disappeared, people began to forget her. It started with her best friend, abandoning her for cooler kids, and her boyfriend cheating on her. Her grades were slipping, and so was her sanity. Slowly, her smile got a little more strained, and her eyes more tired.

She told me she was fine, and like a fool, I believed her. I found her one late night, a few weeks later, lying on the bathroom floor clutching a bottle of pills. 'I'm sorry' she muttered, over and over again. She'd even left a note, in case she didn't make it. It was close, but my sister recovered. I wondered if she really even wanted to.

I didn't know how much I loved her smile until it was gone. Until she was gone.

I hadn't been to the post office since then. It was too painful to admit the fact that nobody cared - for this place, or for Noëlle. Looking back, I don't know what I was thinking, bringing Mina here. It had seemed like a wonderful idea, an act of rebellion, when I found the keys in a box of Noelle's old things in the attic and didn't tell eomma. Instead, I came here, because it felt good doing what I wanted for once. I didn't even think it through.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps from a distance away. They were fast and hard, and I scrunched my eyes to see who was running with such vigour towards me.
Mina.

She stood above me, her face red with a faint sheen of sweat and a fearful expression.
'Noah? Are you hurt? Did someone hit you while you were on the bike?' Her voice called, frantic and worried.

'I'm fine, come lie down next to me, Mina' I called, my voice breaking. She looked at me
like I was crazy. Honestly, I was.

'I'm serious, nobody ever uses this road. It's abandoned most of the time. Lie down, take a risk.' I pleaded, and I don't think she was fully convinced I wasn't criminally insane.

She lied down cautiously, closer to the edge of the road. Together, we looked at the sky. It was like someone had dipped it in cotton candy - it was purple and pink with hints of blue. I chuckled, the tears still falling from my eyes, because purple was my sister's  favourite colour. The clouds were moving quickly, too quickly for my liking. Then again, I never was fond of change.

I turned to Mina, who seemed transfixed with the blush pink hue of the sky, and smiled.

'Are you brave, Mina?' I asked her, my voice soft.

'No,' She paused.

'But I am alive.'

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I'm proud of this chapter because i tried to write it in my diary first (an idea I got from simplisticsonders ' but I literally wrote 4 pages and it only came upto 600 words. So I gave up and edited the chapter as I was uploading it. Anyway, a trigger warning for Noëlle, I really hope nobody thinks I'm romanticising mental illnesses. They are terrible, and nobody should have to suffer through that. My heart goes out to each and every person dealing with a mental illness, and I hope you're strong enough to recover. This chapter is a peek past Noah's cheerful demeanour, and into his messed-up past. I'm happy with how this came out! Please comment, vote, and give me feedback!
Love,
Sanjana