Alimah was the only person who seemed to notice the fractures in Safiyah's carefully constructed mask. For so long, Safiyah had perfected the art of pretending - of appearing like everything was fine, of hiding the chaos that raged within her. But Alimah knew her too well. She had known Safiyah since they were kids, had shared laughter, secrets, and fears. And now, she saw the cracks, the way Safiyah's eyes had lost their spark, the way her smile had become a distant echo of what it used to be. One afternoon, as they lingered in the hallway after class, Alimah stepped in front of Safiyah, blocking her path. Her expression was soft, but determined. "Safiyah, what's going on with you?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. Safiyah froze, her heart hammering in her chest. She could feel the weight of Alimah's gaze, could feel the question burrowing deep into her. She tried to look away, tried to escape, but it was impossible. Alimah could see right through her, see the mask she wore that was no longer fooling anyone.Nothing. I'm fine," Safiyah muttered, her eyes fixed on the floor. Alimah didn't let her off the hook. "You're not fine," she said, her voice firmer this time. "I've known you since we were kids. I can tell when something's wrong. Please, talk to me." The words, the truth, hovered on the tip of Samiya's tongue. She wanted to tell Alimah everything, to share the darkness that had consumed her for so long. ne truly see her, or would they just look away, just like everyone else had?
But the fear was suffocating, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Safiyah's vision blurred as tears threatened to spill, but she quickly blinked them away. Her throat tightened, and for a moment, she felt like she might choke on the words she couldn't say. "I can't," she whispered, her voice breaking. Alimah's face softened, her eyes filled with sympathy. She reached out, gently taking Safiyah's hand in hers. "You don't have to do this alone," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you." For a brief moment, Safiyah felt a flicker of something she hadn't felt in a long time - hope. It was faint, fragile, like a candle struggling against the wind. But it was there, a tiny spark in the dark. But that spark was quickly smothered by the weight of her fear. How could she tell Alimah the truth? How could she explain the unspeakable things that had shaped her, things that were buried so deep, she wasn't sure she could even say them out loud? How could she explain the way the past haunted her, how it lived inside her, twisting and clawing, suffocating her with its grip?
That night, Safiyah sat in the dim light of her room, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. She opened her diary, the one place where she could speak her truth without fear of judgment. The pen hovered over the paper as she began to write, pouring out everything she couldn't say to Alimah, everything she couldn't share with anyone else. "I want to tell someone. I want to let it all out. But what if they don't believe me? What if they think it's my fault? Maybe it is my fault." The words spilled out in a rush, messy and raw, as Samiya's hand trembled. She wasn't sure what hurt more - the weight of the words or the silence that followed. Would anyone understand? Would anyone truly see her, or would they just look away, just like everyone else had? As the pen left the paper, Samiya felt a hollow ache in her chest. The truth had been written down, but it still felt like she was holding it all inside, like she was trapped in a cage of her own making. She closed the diary, but the emptiness remained.