After hours of baking, my kitchen still smelled like vanilla and burnt sugar, but it did nothing to lift my mood. The cookies lay cooling on the counter, perfect golden circles that mocked me with their stillness. I stood there with my arms folded, staring at them as if they might whisper some kind of comfort. But my chest still ached, hollow and restless.
So I left.
The air outside was cold against my skin, a small mercy compared to the storm inside me. The walk to Clara’s house felt longer than usual. The streetlights were pale and tired, the kind that made everything look washed out, like a memory that had lost its color. By the time I reached her house, my thoughts were heavy enough to drag me down.
Clara’s door was unlocked, like always. I pushed it open quietly and found her on he
