"Healing is quiet.
Not a fireworks show, but a soft return to yourself."
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There was no applause.
No dramatic moment where the world clapped and said, "Good job, Aira, you stood up for yourself."
But that morning, when she woke up, her chest felt different.
Not empty. Just… less caged.
The first thing she noticed was the light filtering through her curtain. The second thing she noticed was how quiet her thoughts were. Not gone. Not silent. But softer.
She stood in front of the mirror, not to pick at her face or her flaws, but just to look. To exist.
"I'm still here," she whispered to herself.
"And maybe that's enough today."
Later that week, she walked past the old art studio on campus.
She used to go there during first year, when things were simpler, when friendship didn't feel like a landmine, and Mira hadn't swallowed her whole.
Her feet stopped at the door. Something inside her itched to go in.
So she did.
The studio smelled like dust, paint, and memory.
Aira found an empty seat near the window. She picked up a pencil. A blank page stared back at her, daring her to exist.
She started sketching.
Not anything complicated—just lines. Circles. Shadows.
A shape that slowly became a girl sitting on a bed, her hands cupping her own face.
There was no one else in the drawing.
Just her.
________________________________________
"You can't heal in the same place you were hurt.
But maybe you can remember who you were before the pain."
_________________________________________
Mae noticed first.
"You seem… lighter," she said, sipping her iced matcha as they sat under the trees on campus.
"Do I?" Aira asked. She didn't mean it to sound sarcastic. She genuinely didn't know.
Mae nodded. "You've been smiling more. Not forced. Just… naturally."
Aira blinked. The thought hadn't occurred to her.
Ray, who was sitting beside them sketching buildings in his notebook, added quietly, "It suits you."
She didn't know what to say, so she just smiled. It wasn't wide. But it was real.
But not everyone was happy.
Hana had been quiet lately.
Quieter than usual—but not the good kind.
She still invited Aira to lunch, still replied in group chats. But her words were clipped. Her tone colder. She had a way of making Aira feel like she was being ridiculous for noticing.
During one group study session, Aira said something about wanting to join the art club again.
Hana raised an eyebrow and said, "Didn't you drop that because you said you were too mentally overwhelmed?"
Aira froze. Her pen paused mid-sentence.
The room went quiet for a beat too long.
Mae opened her mouth, then closed it.
Ray looked over at Aira, subtle but attentive.
Aira swallowed, kept her tone steady. "Yeah. But I think I want to do it again."
Hana shrugged, a smile curling at her lips. "Well, let's just hope it doesn't become another thing."
The way she said thing like it was a dirty word. Like your anxiety, your boundaries, your emotions were inconveniences.
Like healing was only allowed if it was quiet and unthreatening.
"People who benefit from your silence will never celebrate your voice."
That night, Aira journaled again.
Not because she was spiraling.
But because something in her needed anchoring.
"I am not selfish for choosing peace.
I am not dramatic for setting boundaries.
I am not broken for needing time."
"And if people feel uncomfortable with my growth, maybe it's because they preferred me when I didn't know I could leave."
The next day, she went to the art studio again.
She painted.
Messy, clumsy, unpolished — but hers.
She painted a girl standing in the rain with her arms open, not afraid of getting wet.
And in the corner of the canvas, she wrote:
"It is not my job to make everyone else comfortable while I drown."