Maya had practically chased me out of her house, her hurt and anger radiating off her in waves so hot I could barely withstand them. The door had slammed not just on my exit, but on our friendship, it seemed. So, I found myself back in the echoing silence of my apartment, shivering not from the cold but from the violent emotional whiplash. I crawled into bed, wearing nothing but Carlos's suit jacket over my bare skin. It was my only anchor, a scrap of fabric that smelled like sandalwood and a fantasy world where things were simple, where I felt desired and intriguing, not like a failed friend carrying a gut-wrenching secret.
My phone had been buzzing incessantly on the coffee table, a persistent, angry fly against the wood. It was undoubtedly Austin, and his digital "emergencies" were the very last thing my frayed nerves could handle. When did my life get this dramatic? The question echoed in the hollow spaces of my apartment, a silent scream with no answer. I was too drained to even form a coherent thought. I just pulled the duvet over my head, letting the heavy weight of exhaustion swallow me whole, the scent of Carlos on the jacket my only lullaby.
---
The next day, the world had lost its saturation, everything cast in a flat, grey light. I moved through my morning routine at Zalira on autopilot, my motions precise but empty. The fight with Maya was a heavy, cold rock in my stomach, a constant, sickening reminder of my failure. When Jane, her own energy seeming subdued, tentatively suggested lunch, I jumped at the chance for a distraction, for any connection that didn't feel like it was fracturing.
"So," Jane began, her voice unusually hesitant as we walked to our usual spot. The city sounds around us felt muffled. "You know the girl I told you about?"
"Yeah, the Tinder girl," I said, forcing a breezy lightness into my tone I didn't feel. I nudged her shoulder playfully, falling into the familiar role of the cheerful friend. "You didn't even tell me her name, you secretive little thing." I put on a fake, exaggerated pout, and we both managed a weak, fleeting laugh that died almost as soon as it was born.
"Yeah, well," she sighed, the brief humor vanishing from her eyes, replaced by a deep, weary sadness. "There's no need to know her name now. Because I'm never talking to her again."
The finality in her voice, so heavy with disappointment, cut through the fog of my own misery. "What happened?" I asked softly as we pushed open the familiar door to the little Chinese restaurant—a cozy, unassuming haven with red vinyl booths and the always-comforting, aromatic scent of garlic, ginger, and five-spice hanging thickly in the warm air.
We slid into a corner booth, the vinyl squeaking under us. Jane immediately began playing with the frayed edge of the paper placemat, her eyes fixed on the cartoon dragon printed there. "She just... she just wanted sex from me," she mumbled, her voice thick with unshed tears. She sniffled, wiping quickly at her nose with the back of her hand. "I know this is probably embarrassing to say, and maybe I'm being naive, but... there is more to me than that, Hannah. I'm not just a... a body. I'm not just a convenience."
Her words, so raw and vulnerable, struck a chord deep within me, resonating with my own feelings of being misread and undervalued. In an instant, I was out of my seat and sliding into the booth next to her, ignoring the curious glances from the elderly couple at the next table. This was a code-red friend emergency.
"No, baby," I said firmly, wrapping my arms around her slender shoulders. "No, look at me. There is a universe inside of you. You are brilliant, and creative, and so, so kind. Anyone who is too blind, too selfish, to see the incredible person you are isn't worth a single second of your tears." She melted into the hug, her shoulders shaking slightly as she finally let go and buried her face in my shoulder. I held her tight, a solid anchor in her storm. I didn't care if we were causing a scene; her worth was more important than propriety.
"But why does this keep happening to me?" she whispered, her voice cracking with a pain that felt ancient. "Every single time. It's like they see 'shy' and 'introverted' and think it means 'easy' or 'unworthy of respect.' I just... I want someone to see me. The real me. The one who loves graphic novels and hates loud noises and wants to be asked about her day."
I held her tighter, my heart aching in a synchronous rhythm with hers. "I know, sweetie. I know." I gestured to the waiter and held up two fingers, pointing decisively to the pot stickers on the menu—our universal comfort food. "It's not you, Jane. I promise you, it's not. It's the garbage landscape of modern dating. It's full of people who are too selfish to see the amazing person right in front of them. You deserve someone who is thrilled to take things slow, who wants to know your favorite book and what you wanted to be when you were seven. You deserve the whole fairy tale, not just the prologue."
The pot stickers arrived, steaming and golden-brown, their savory smell a small comfort. I nudged the plate toward her. "Eat. Carbs and grease are the first step to healing a broken heart. It's a scientific fact."
She gave me a watery, grateful smile, picking up a chopstick with renewed determination. "Thanks, Han. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"The feeling is absolutely mutual," I said, and I meant it with every fiber of my being. In comforting her, in being the strong, reassuring one, I was somehow soothing a part of myself that felt just as lost, discarded, and terribly alone.
---
Back home, the silence in my apartment had solidified into a physical presence, heavy and suffocating. Days had bled into one another, a monotonous grey streak. I hadn't heard a single word from Maya. No texts, no missed calls. The void she left was deafening. I'd driven by her townhouse multiple times, my heart lodged firmly in my throat, but her SUV was never there, the windows perpetually dark, a tomb of our former friendship. Where was she? Had she gone to him? The thought was a fresh stab of pain every time.
And Carlos… nothing but radio silence. The dizzying high from our date had curdled into a nauseating, low-grade anxiety. My mind had become a self-contained torture chamber, cycling through every possible insecurity. Did I say too much? Was I too forward, too eager? Maybe he wanted someone more polished, more effortlessly elegant—the kind of woman who was born in pearls and never had a chipped nail or a secret panic attack in a bathroom stall. I was feminine, sure, but in a trying-desperately-to-keep-my-head-above-water way, not in a gliding-serene-and-untouchable-through-life way. The only tangible proof that the magical night hadn't been a beautiful dream was his suit jacket, which I'd carefully hung on the outside of my closet door, a silent, scented monument to a happiness that felt galaxies away.
It was late, well past midnight on a Thursday. I was scrolling mindlessly through my phone in bed, buried in my softest pajamas, the blue light doing nothing to numb the profound ache of loneliness. The sudden, sharp buzz of my doorbell was so jarring in the profound quiet that I actually jumped, my phone tumbling onto the comforter.
My first, foolish, heart-leaping thought was Maya. She's here. She's ready to talk.
Then,a wild, hopeful flutter: Carlos.
I padded barefoot to the door, my heart thumping a frantic, hopeful rhythm against my ribs. I didn't bother with the peephole, my desperate hope outstripping my usual caution.
I pulled the door open, and the hope shattered into a million icy shards.
It was Austin.
But it was an Austin I barely recognized. The man standing on my doorstep looked like he had aged a decade since I'd last seen him. His face, usually ruddy from the Texas sun, was pale and gaunt, his cheeks hollowed out as if he hadn't eaten properly in weeks. A scruffy, unkempt beard, more salt than pepper now, covered his jaw, and his clothes—a wrinkled flannel and stained jeans—looked like he'd been sleeping in them for days. A cold dread, entirely different from the romantic kind, seized me, freezing the blood in my veins.
"How did you get my address?" The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it, a surge of violation cutting through my shock. How did everyone suddenly have a right to my private space?
"Can we go in, Hannah? This is important," he said, his voice gravelly and worn, the Texas accent thicker than I remembered, layered with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion.
"No," I said firmly, my body blocking the doorway, a barrier against whatever fresh hell he was bringing. "What are you doing here? You came all the way from Texas. Why?"
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his worn-out jacket, shivering against the biting wind that whipped down the hallway. "It's about your mama. And I got your address from her, a while back, for emergencies. Now, can I please come in? It's freezin' out here, kid."
"I don't care," I stated, my voice like ice. I stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind me, shutting him out of my sanctuary. The cold of the linoleum floor immediately seeped through my thin pajamas, a physical shock. "We can discuss whatever this is right here. Why. Are. You. Here?"
He looked at me then, really looked at me, and his eyes were bottomless pools of a grief so profound it seemed to suck all the light from the dim hallway. All the frustration, the anger, the lifelong suspicion—it all evaporated in the face of that devastating look. This wasn't a performance.
He didn't soften the blow. He didn't know how. Austin had never been a man for pretty words. The words came out flat, final, and brutal, each one a hammer blow.
"Since you don't want to let me in," he said, his voice cracking on the last word, his composure finally breaking. "Your mama… her kidneys are failing. We need donors and we don't… we don't have enough money for all the treatments. Hannah, if we don't find a kidney donor soon… she's going to die."
It was as if I'd been struck by lightning. The world didn't just stop; it shattered into a million unrecognizable pieces. The sound of a distant siren, the rustle of a neighbor's trash bag, the feel of the cold floor beneath my feet—everything vanished into a high-pitched, deafening ringing in my ears. My body went completely numb, a statue of flesh and bone freezing on the spot.
"No," I whispered, the word a mere puff of frozen vapor in the cold air. It wasn't a denial of the facts. It was a reflex, the only sound my soul could make as the foundation of my entire world, however fractured and complicated it had been, gave way completely and collapsed into a silent, terrifying abyss.
My knees buckled. I didn't fall, but my hand shot out, slamming against the cold metal of the doorframe for support, the impact jarring up my arm. I stared at him, my vision tunneling, waiting for him to take it back, to say it was a sick joke, another one of his twisted manipulations.
But he just stood there, a broken man in the freezing night, confirming my worst nightmare with the utter ruin in his silence.