Chapter 4

She didn’t mean to leave like that.

Not really.

But the laughter was too loud. The voices, too layered. The kitchen lights, too bright. Her skin felt too tight, her smile fake, and her chest—aching in a way she didn’t have words for. So when everyone’s attention turned to Manon’s ridiculous story about mixing shampoo with face cream, Megan slipped away.

Just like that.

No one noticed.

Except Lara. Of course.

And… Daniela?

Megan didn’t dare look back. She just moved. Quiet and quick, padding down the hallway with careful steps, holding her breath like that could stop the flood behind her eyes.

When she closed the bedroom door, she finally exhaled.

The room was dark, only a bit of moonlight spilling across the floor through the half-open curtain. Her side of the room was messier than usual—her notebook lying open on the bed, her hoodie tossed over the chair, water bottle half-full on the nightstand.

She dropped onto the bed.

The silence hit first. Then the loneliness. Then, the weight.

The ache that had followed her all day finally sank its claws in.

It wasn’t just the journal.

It was Daniela’s smile at dinner. The way she laughed with Manon, the soft tone she used with Yoonchae. The small touches—playful, innocent, meaningless. To her.

But not to Megan.

To Megan, every glance meant look away. Every laugh meant you’ll never be that close. Every kind word sounded like don’t ruin this.

Her throat burned.

She grabbed her pillow and pulled it to her chest, hugging it tightly, as if it could hold her together. And just like that—quietly, finally—she broke.

Tears slipped down her cheeks without resistance.

No sobs. No sound. Just tears and breathless gasps. It hurt too much to cry the way she wanted to. She’d held it in all day—all week—and now it poured out like something old and heavy.

Megan didn’t hear the knock.

She didn’t see the door creak open, soft and careful. She didn’t see the figure standing in the doorway, hesitant, quiet.

Daniela had never walked softer in her life.

Daniela didn’t know what made her follow.

Maybe it was the silence Megan left behind. Or the stiffness in her shoulders. Or the fact that, lately, Megan wouldn’t look her in the eye.

Maybe it was Lara—who stood halfway out of her seat to follow too, but sat back down when Daniela stood up.

Maybe Daniela didn’t want to name it. That was easier.

The hallway was quiet. Megan’s door was cracked slightly. She was about to knock again, but… something stopped her.

She heard the softest sound.

Not loud. Not wailing. Just… fragile.

Daniela opened the door.

She didn’t mean to intrude. But what she saw froze her in place.

Megan, curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow like it was life support, shoulders trembling.

Daniela’s heart dropped.

No one else saw this, she realized. No one else knows she’s breaking.

Without thinking, she stepped inside and gently closed the door.

Megan only noticed the shift when the mattress dipped beside her.

She gasped, turning—eyes wide, face blotchy, mouth already forming a “what the hell—”

And then she saw who it was.

Daniela.

“Megan,” Daniela said gently, her voice almost a whisper. “It’s just me.”

Megan blinked, confused and overwhelmed and… embarrassed. “What—what are you doing in here?”

“I saw you leave,” Daniela said. “You looked like… like you couldn’t breathe.”

Megan wiped at her cheeks roughly. “I’m fine.”

Daniela didn’t move closer. She didn’t touch her. She just sat there, looking at her with that quiet, open expression Megan always hated and loved at the same time.

“You’re not,” she said softly. “And it’s okay.”

Megan laughed bitterly, still hiding behind her pillow. “What, you’re a therapist now?”

“No,” Daniela replied. “I’m your friend.”

Megan winced. That word. That stupid, sharp word.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “I don’t need you to fix anything.”

“I’m not trying to fix it,” Daniela said. “I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”

That silence again. Thick. Heavy.

Megan’s breath hitched.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” she admitted, so quietly she wasn’t even sure the words came out.

Daniela’s face softened.

“But I did,” she said. “And I’m still here.”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t say that. Don’t—don’t pretend you get it.”

“I’m not pretending anything,” Daniela said. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. But… I care.”

Megan turned her face away, trying to stop the tears that kept coming anyway. “I’m just tired,” she said. “That’s all.”

Daniela shifted a little closer—but still didn’t touch her. “Do you want me to leave?”

Megan didn’t answer.

Not with words.

She didn’t move. She didn’t say yes. And that was enough.

Daniela took a slow breath and reached out, gently pulling the pillow away and setting it aside.

Then she opened her arms.

Megan hesitated.

Then she folded forward.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself fall into someone’s arms.

Daniela was warm. Steady. Gentle. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask anything. She just held Megan like she was allowed to break.

Megan pressed her face into Daniela’s shoulder and cried.

Not silently this time. Real, shaking sobs.

Daniela’s hand moved slowly over her back, up and down, again and again, anchoring her like waves to the shore.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, “you’re okay.”

Megan wanted to say I’m not.

But the way Daniela held her made her feel like maybe—just maybe—someday she could be.

They stayed like that a long time.

No questions. No confessions. Just warmth in the middle of the storm.

When Megan’s breathing evened out, she felt Daniela shift slightly.

“You don’t have to talk,” she said. “But if you ever want to… I’ll listen.”

Megan nodded against her shoulder.

And then, quieter: “I’m sorry.”

Daniela pulled back just enough to look at her.

“For what?”

Megan gave a weak, teary smile. “For being so dramatic.”

Daniela shook her head with a small smile. “You’re not dramatic.”

“You’d be the first to say that.”

Daniela tilted her head. “You just… feel a lot. That’s not a bad thing.”

Megan stared at her. “Why are you being so nice?”

“Because you matter,” Daniela said simply.

And Megan felt her heart crack again—but in a different way this time.

Later, after Daniela had helped her wash her face and tucked her into bed, Megan laid in the dark with one hand on her journal.

She didn’t write tonight.

She didn’t need to.

For the first time in days, she didn’t feel alone.

And even though she knew the ache wasn’t gone, it felt… quieter.

Because Daniela had seen her cry.

And stayed..