Rringggg!!!!
Rringggggggg!!!!!!!
Rringgggggggggggg!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Fuck!!!" Thalma groaned, turning to the other side of the bed as if she could bury herself from the noise of the alarm. The alarm didn't care but kept screaming.
She made it to the edge of the bed, stretched her hand and slapped the alarm to her satisfaction, exhaled tiredly and stayed there for a moment.
"Today is gonna be a long day" Thalma whispered softly to herself. She did not want to get up but her thoughts were already awake. Gently and unwillingly she grabbed herself off the bed and headed to her reading table. The kind of stillness that comes after emotions you're not ready to face.
She opens her second drawer where her diary is occupied, quiet and innocent. A little worn at the edges , like it had absorbed everything cried , hoped and lied about.
She carried it gently like something fragile and gave it a hug. Thalma reached out for her pen , it felt familiar between her fingers. She opened her diary to a blank page and let her breath settle as the words began to form themselves.
"Dear Diary…."
She paused , not because she didn't know what to write on but because lots of words lingered through her mind and she didn't know where to begin but she did anyway.
"It's been a long and eventful summer , the kind that stretches without asking what I want, the kind that leaves me tired in ways sleep can't fix. I enjoyed it , I really did . The Arden Blue concert last month… It was my favorite. Her music screamed out my unsaid thoughts in the most perfect way that I can't even explain. Not just the music alone, because for some hours I forgot how loud my thoughts can be. I stood there in the crowd, lights of different colours, voices singing, unfamiliar faces but some of them looked like me in their possible ways and for once I felt like I belonged somewhere that wasn't inside my head. I wish I could always stay in moments like that .
I keep thinking I should be better by now, more put together, less confused and less emotional about things I pretend it doesn't matter .
I tell myself I'm learning. That every mistake is shaping me into something softer , stronger and wiser. But some days , I feel like a girl trying to figure herself out with borrowed courage and half healed confidence. I want to be the kind of girl who chooses herself without feeling guilty.
Maybe writing this down is my first step. Maybe this diary is the only place where I am honest without the fear of being misunderstood.
For now , this will do with the hope of becoming someone I won't have to explain someday"
Thalma let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Writing it down always did that, lifted something heavy from her chest, even if only a little. The feeling didn't last forever, but it was enough for now. She closed the diary gently and stood up, walking toward the window. The sun was slowly taking its place in the sky, spilling light across the rooftops and into her room. It wasn't bright yet. Just a present. Calm. Like it was easing the world awake. She stayed there for a moment just watching.
Then, her phone buzzed. The sound broke the stillness, pulling her attention back into her room. She reached out to it half expecting nothing important and still hoping otherwise.
"Oooh Tim, why's he texting…" she whispered softly to herself. "Well, there's only one way to find out," she whispered again. His name sat on the screen longer than she expected it to. Still curious about the message so she opened it.
"Good morning, Thalma. Did you sleep well?" The message reads. She stared for a while before her mind began to wonder. Tim has been kind to her and she knew that. And patience followed him everywhere she went. Still there was something about his presence that made her careful. Not because he had done something wrong but because she was not sure of what she had to offer. She placed her finger on the screen, then on the keyboard. She didn't reply , not yet.
She placed the phone face down on the table and turned back to the window. The sunlight was brushing against her skin as if reminding her that the day had begun with or without her permission.
***
The music was loud enough to blur thought.
Bass pressed against the walls of the house, spilling into the night, into bodies moving too close to each other, into laughter that sounded careless and free. The living room lights were dimmed low, colored bulbs flashing lazily as if even they were tired of trying too hard.
Damon leaned against the counter, a red cup hanging loosely from his fingers. He didn't look like someone who was enjoying himself but then again, Damon rarely ever did. His eyes scanned the room absentmindedly, stopping briefly on nothing in particular.
"Bro, you've been standing there for ten minutes," Trevor said, nudging him with his elbow. "At least pretend you're at a party."
Lewis laughed from the couch, one arm slung around a girl whose name he didn't bother to remember. "That's Damon for you. Always somewhere else."
Rodney, already halfway drunk, raised his cup. "To be young and irresponsible," he announced, drawing cheers from the girls dancing near the speaker. Three of them, dressed in confidence and glitter, moved freely, laughing too loud, touching shoulders, hair swinging with the music. They looked like they belonged to the night. Like this was exactly where they were meant to be.
Damon took a sip from his drink. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He didn't need to check it to know who he was hoping it wasn't. Still, his hand moved on its own. Nothing important. He exhaled slowly, slipping the phone back in, his jaw tightening just a little. He told himself he was over it. Over her. Over everything that used to feel heavy. The music grew louder. Someone turned the volume up again. And yet, somehow, in the middle of the noise, Damon felt the quiet ache of a name he refused to say out loud.
***
By the time the sky began to soften into warmer shades, Thalma found herself restless. Sunset always did that to her. It arrived gently, yet it carried too many thoughts with it. She slipped on a light jacket, reached instinctively for the second drawer, and pulled out her diary. The pen followed. Then her headset, something to bkeep the world at a distance. She hesitated for a moment at the door, then stepped out.
The walk was quiet. Streets glowing faintly under the evening light, bicycles passing, conversations floating past her without touching her. Oxford always felt like a place that remembered things…old walls, slow rivers, histories layered on top of each other. She liked that. It made her feel less alone in her remembering.
Christ Church Meadow welcomed her with its calm. She found a spot not too close, not too far, and sat down, resting the diary on her lap. The river moved lazily beside her, reflecting the sky as it dimmed. People passed,couples walking close, friends laughing, families moving together in easy harmony.
Her eyes lingered on a woman holding a child's hand. A man followed closely behind, talking softly, smiling. Something tightened in her chest.
She had love from both sides and she knew that. Her mother, Evelyn, called often from Morocco, her voice warm, always asking if Thalma was eating well, if she was coping. Her father checked in from Canada too, careful, present in his own way.
Her gaze dropped to the grass. Some kids, she thought, are lucky without knowing it. She slipped her headset on, letting the music hum softly in her ears not loud enough to drown the world, just enough to blur it. Her fingers brushed the edge of the diary, but she didn't open it yet…
She wasn't ready to write this part. The sun dipped lower, and with it came the quiet realization that some things stay with you no matter how far you travel, no matter how well you learn to stand on your own. Thalma sat there, watching the light fade, holding her thoughts close, unaware that the night was already preparing to bring her past a little closer than she was ready for.
…then, gathering a courage she wasn't sure she still had, Thalma reached for her pen. Maybe writing would loosen the tightness in her chest. Maybe it would let some of the weight spill out. She opened the diary.
"Dear Diary,
Did the universe plan on making me unlucky?
I don't have a perfect family living together, and somehow, I'm still unlucky in love. I know they're both living their dream lives now, and I love seeing them happy. Truly, I do. But am I happy?
I've been surviving since I was eight. I'm nineteen now, and I'm still surviving. Do I ever get a chance to live?"
The words blurred as her vision trembled. She hadn't noticed the tears at first, only the way the page darkened in small uneven drops. She didn't wipe them away. She let them fall. They had earned their way out.
Too many questions crowded her mind, each one louder than the last, yet none of them demanding answers anymore. She was tired of answers. What she wanted was peace.
The sun slipped further away, sinking quietly into the unknown, while darkness stretched itself across the earth without asking permission. The meadow grew dimmer. Shadows lengthened. The world slowed.Thalma closed the diary and rested her forehead against it.
"Another night with a heavy heart, another night of surviving, another night of wishing things would turn, another night of hoping tomorrow would feel lighter than today" she whispered
She sat there as the sky finally gave in to night, holding onto her diary like it was the only thing that truly understood her unaware that some hearts, once written about, have a way of finding their way back into your life.
***
She was still sitting there when they passed. A tall guy, broad-shouldered, moving with an easy confidence, his hand laced with that of a slender girl beside him. She was pretty in a soft, effortless way, laughing, leaning into him, playfully tugging him back as if the world had nothing urgent waiting for them.
Thalma's eyes followed them without intention. She didn't mean to stare. She just hadn't looked away fast enough. Then something about the way he tilted his head caught her. Her breath hitched.
"No, it couldn't be". She said slowly. Her heart began to beat louder, heavier, as she lifted her gaze properly this time. The fading light made it hard to see clearly, but recognition didn't need permission. It arrived anyway, sudden and cruel. Damon walked beside her like she belonged there. Like his hand fits easily in someone else's. Like he hadn't once held Thalma's the same way.
Her chest tightened so sharply it almost hurt to breathe. She didn't know what she was feeling, anger, disbelief, sadness, or something worse than all of them combined. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her jacket, nails pressing into her palms as if grounding herself might stop the ache but it didn't.
They laughed about something she would never know. The girl said something that made Damon smile, that familiar smile Thalma had memorized once upon a time. And just like that, the past rose up and wrapped itself around her ribs. Her eyes burned. She looked away too late.
Tears slipped down quietly, without warning, without permission. She didn't wipe them this time. She didn't pretend she was okay. She just sat there, sobbing softly, shoulders trembling, as the world continued moving like nothing had been undone inside her.
"So this is how it happens" she thought. You think you've healed… until you see them holding someone else's hand. The sun is long gone now. Night had fully settled in, watching her break in silence. And Thalma, nineteen, tired, still learning how to survive, sat with a heart that suddenly felt heavier than it had all evening.
Her phone vibrated. The sound startled her..not loud, just sudden enough to pull her out of herself. She flinched, instinctively reaching for it before she could stop herself, as if part of her already knew who it would be.
It's Tim again. His name glowed gently on the screen, patient as always. The timing felt almost cruel or kind. She couldn't tell the difference anymore.
"Hey. I don't know why, but you crossed my mind. Are you okay?" The text reads. Her chest tightened all over again. She stared at the message, the words blurring as fresh tears filled her eyes. Tim didn't know where she was. He didn't know what she had just seen. He didn't know how close she felt to falling apart and yet, somehow, he always seemed to arrive at the edges of her breaking. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
"What could she say?" She thought . That she had just watched the past walk by, hand in hand with someone new? That she felt foolish for believing she was healing? That nineteen suddenly felt too young to be this tired? She locked the phone instead. The screen went dark.
Thalma hugged her diary closer to her chest, as if it could steady her, as if it could hold together the parts of her that were quietly coming undone. Around her, laughter echoed faintly, footsteps passed, life continued almost unaware of how deeply one girl was hurting on a bench in the dark. She took a shaky breath and stood up.
Some nights didn't ask to be understood.
They only asked to be endured.
And as Thalma walked away from the meadow, the unanswered message still resting in her pocket, one truth lingered heavily in her chest…
"Surviving was starting to feel lonelier than ever"...
To be continued...