Philophobia: A Heart That Fears Love

People talk about love like it’s some kind of miracle. As if it doesn’t leave you hollow. As if it doesn’t rot you from the inside out. I’ve seen what love does. The screaming, the begging, the broken plates on kitchen floors. I’ve lived it — behind locked doors and bloodied voices, where “I love you” came with bruises and apologies that never lasted. So, I made a decision years ago: Never love. Never let anyone close enough to break you. That’s why I don’t smile when someone flirts. That’s why I delete every “Hey, you’re cute” before I even check who sent it. I don’t do attachments. I don’t do people. I survive alone. And honestly? That’s how I like it. --- The steam from the shower still clung to my skin, fogging the mirror as I tied my hair into a messy bun. My eyes — tired, dark-circled, guarded — stared back at me like a stranger I’ve grown used to pretending is fine. Today was the first day of university. A fresh start, they called it. New people, new classes, new reasons to fake a smile. Yay. I threw on a hoodie two sizes too big and black jeans that hugged just enough to feel like armor. The fewer people noticed me, the better. “Zoe! Breakfast is ready! You’re going to be late!” My mother’s voice cut through the silence like a blade through silk. I shut my eyes. Counted to three. Pretended she wasn’t there. I hated mornings. I hated people pretending they cared. I hated pretending I believed them. Especially her. Still, I grabbed my bag, slung it over one shoulder, and walked into the kitchen — quiet, distant, unreadable. Just the way I liked it. She placed a plate in front of me. Toast. Eggs. Overcooked like always. “You should eat properly,” she said without looking at me. I gave a half-nod, just enough to keep the peace. We didn’t talk about the past. We didn’t talk about why I wake up some nights gasping for air. We didn’t talk about why I flinch when someone raises their voice. We just… existed. Like strangers in the same house, performing the roles we were given. --- The university gates looked like prison bars. People laughed in clusters, hugged like they meant it, snapped selfies with eyes full of light I could never fake. My steps slowed, heart heavy in my chest like a warning siren. Don’t let them in. Don’t let them see. I kept my hood up. Earphones in. Volume off. Just enough to make people think I wasn’t available — Which was true. Emotionally? I was gone a long time ago. And that’s how I planned to keep it. Or at least… That’s what I thought.