Lost in the dark

His hug that broke me again

I waited.

I sat on the edge of his bed, hands clutching the hem of my uniform, heart still pounding from the shock of what I had seen. The sunlight filtering through the window felt too bright, too sharp. I wanted to disappear, wanted the world to swallow me whole. My tears wouldn’t stop, and I couldn’t even think clearly.

Then the door opened.

Daniel stepped out, casual, like nothing had happened.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to breathe. I expected anger. I expected yelling. I expected questions, accusations, maybe even the faintest flicker of guilt.

But there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

He came closer, slow, calm. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around me. He lifted me as easily as if I were a child, placing me gently onto the chair. My knees hit the floor first, then I slumped into the chair, still trembling, still sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, quiet, patient, his voice steady.

I sniffled, wiping tears with the back of my hand. My chest shook as I tried to explain. “I… I saw your phone,” I whispered. “I saw… the messages… the other girls…”

He paused for just a second, then leaned closer. “Shida,” he said softly, “they’re not who you think. They’re my friend’s girlfriends. I was just testing to see if they really loved him, if they would stay loyal. It wasn’t what it looked like.”

I blinked. I wanted to scream, to shake him, to throw the chair across the room. But his calmness, his certainty, pulled me in like a tide I couldn’t resist. I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.

“I… okay,” I whispered. “No problem.”

I said it almost automatically, though a tiny piece of me quivered with doubt. I stood up, walked closer to him, and hugged him tightly. His warmth filled me, numbing the ache that had exploded in my chest just moments ago.

I took my school bag, slinging it over my shoulder. We walked out together. I didn’t speak; I didn’t need to. His presence alone made me feel safe again, made the world feel solid enough to step into.

When I finally reached home, I didn’t tell anyone what had happened. I didn’t want to explain the turmoil, the fear, the heartbreak. I just set my bag down, washed my face, and tried to push the images from my mind.

And deep down, I believed him.

I trusted him.

Even though my heart had been broken just moments before, I trusted him again.

And that trust—fragile, foolish, dangerous—was mine to give.