Anu;
The kitchen is too bright for how I feel.
In fact, the morning is too… nonchalant about how I feel.
Sunlight spills across the marble island like nothing in the world is wrong, like nothing has shifted, like someone doesn't currently have access to the most vulnerable parts of me.
It somehow makes me feel worse.
Maybe if I woke up to a thunderstorm and heavy rain, I would feel a bit better.
Not this bright mockery of the turmoil swirling inside me.
Zane stands on the other side of the kitchen island, pouring coffee into two mugs.
He doesn't say anything at first, and I watch him. I think he knows that if he starts with "good morning," I might actually cry.
I sit on one of the high stools, legs tucked slightly under me, and fingers buried inside the sleeves of my oversized hoodie.
My diary is gone.
It keeps replaying in my head like a cursed echo.
The open drawer, the empty space… That hollow feeling in my stomach that has refused to go away since last night…
