Alina’s POV
I stared at the glowing screen of my laptop, the blinking cursor mocking me. The numbers, the lines, the design in front of me — none of it made sense anymore. My fingers hovered over the keys, useless.
“Come on, Alina, you can’t just stare at it all day. Put in the work,” I muttered under my breath, my voice low, sharp with frustration.
I tried again, dragging shapes, retyping numbers. Still wrong. A stupid mistake here, another slip there. My patience snapped.
“f**k it,” I hissed, slamming the laptop shut. The dull thud echoed in my room, followed quickly by the pounding in my skull.
I pushed my chair back, legs stretched out as I tilted my head to the ceiling. My chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. And then, like an unwanted flood, memories of Aunt Mary’s voice crash
