Angela stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the collar of her school uniform. It was a simple act, one she had done thousands of times, but today it felt different. The light in the room seemed warmer, the silence softer. There was a weight missing from her chest—the familiar ache of dread, the constant tightness that once came with waking up.
It had been three weeks since her mother left that first note in her notebook. Three weeks of oatmeal breakfasts, of shared writing group meetings, of tentative conversations and quiet acknowledgments. Things weren't perfect, but they were changing—and for the first time, Angela could feel herself changing too.
She stepped into the kitchen, her steps lighter. Her mother was already at the table, sipping from a chipped mug.
"Good morning," Angela said.
Her mother looked up and smiled—a real, tired, but gentle smile. "Morning. Want eggs instead of oatmeal today?"
Angela grinned. "Let's get wild."
At school, Angela spotted Gabriel waiting near the gate, as usual. He noticed her from across the yard and waved with both hands, almost losing grip of his backpack.
"You look suspiciously cheerful," he said as she approached.
Angela shrugged, trying not to smile too wide. "Maybe I am."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Did you finally switch to chocolate cereal?"
"Nope. Just… feeling good."
"Whoa. Angela said she's feeling good? Someone write that down."
Angela laughed—a full, easy laugh that surprised even her. Gabriel blinked and grinned.
"I missed that," he said softly.
Angela glanced at him. "What?"
"You. Like this."
Her smile faltered just a little, not from sadness but from the overwhelming realization of how far she'd come. "Me too."
During lunch, they sat on their usual bench near the field. The sun was high, the grass peppered with tiny yellow flowers.
Gabriel was balancing a juice box on his knee. "So. What's going on? You've got that post-movie-credits glow about you."
Angela took a deep breath. "My mom… she's been trying. I mean, really trying."
Gabriel's eyes widened. "Wait. Your mom, the one who—?"
"Yeah," she interrupted gently. "She read my writing. Came to the group with me. She even wrote something. For me."
Gabriel whistled low. "That's huge."
Angela nodded. "I know it doesn't erase everything. But it's something. And for the first time, I don't feel like I'm bracing myself for the next bad thing."
Gabriel leaned back, arms folded behind his head. "You deserve it. You've been carrying yourself alone for so long. It's about time someone else held some of that weight."
Angela looked down at her hands, then at the worn edge of her notebook in her bag. "I'm learning to let people in. Slowly. I didn't think I could."
"Well," Gabriel said, standing and offering his hand, "welcome to the rest of your life."
She rolled her eyes but took his hand anyway.
That afternoon, they sat under the old tree near the edge of the school field. Angela pulled out her notebook and hesitated.
"I want to read you something. It's new."
Gabriel blinked. "You're sharing without me begging? This must be serious."
Angela flipped to the last page she wrote on. Her voice was steady.
"The Light Inside"
There was once a girl who lived in the shadows, not because she wanted to, but because no one ever told her the sun would wait for her return.
She made homes in notebooks, hugged silence like a blanket, and told herself that invisible was just another kind of strong.
Then one day, someone reached for her. Not to pull her out, but to sit beside her until her eyes adjusted to the light.
And now she walks, not without pain, but with something close to peace. Because healing, she learned, isn't loud.
It's quiet steps toward something better.
Gabriel sat very still. When Angela finished, she closed the notebook slowly and looked up at him.
"That's you," he said, his voice thick. "You're the girl."
Angela smiled. "Yeah. And the someone who reached for her? That's you too."
Gabriel looked away, blinking hard. "I'm not crying, you're crying."
"Shut up," Angela said, laughing.
The sun dipped lower as the school day came to a close. Angela felt it deep in her chest—the warmth, the possibility, the forward motion of her life finally, finally beginning to bloom.
As they walked home, Gabriel nudged her shoulder. "So… what are you going to do next?"
Angela thought for a long moment, then said, "Keep walking. Keep writing. Keep letting people in."
He grinned. "I'll be here. With snacks."
She smiled, holding the notebook close to her chest.
And for once, the world didn't feel too big or too loud. It felt like a place she could exist in.
Not just survive.
But live.