The Weight of Silence

Maya sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the cracks on the wall. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, but she felt no warmth. The world outside was moving—cars honking, children laughing—but inside, she was trapped in a silence so heavy it felt like drowning.

She used to be full of life. Her laughter once echoed in rooms, her dreams painted in bright colors. But now, every step felt like walking through thick fog. People asked, “What’s wrong?” and she would force a smile, whispering, “I’m just tired.”

But it wasn’t just tiredness. It was the weight in her chest, the endless exhaustion, the feeling of being lost in a world that no longer felt like home. Nights were the worst—lying awake, listening to her own heartbeat, wishing it would slow down, wishing it would stop.

One evening, as she sat by the window, a message popped up on her phone. “Hey, I miss you. Let’s talk?” It was from an old friend, someone she had pushed away in her silence. For the first time in a long time, Maya hesitated. And then, with shaky fingers, she replied, “Okay.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. A crack of light in the darkness. And sometimes, that’s all it takes to start finding your way back.