Leave You, Find Myself

It was a National Holiday night, and we had decided to stay at the guesthouse in the mountains for some rest. As I was relaxing, a strong smell of smoke suddenly filled the air.

Startled, I jumped and quickly realized flames emerged from the kitchen.

Without hesitation, Carson rushed to his childhood friend, Kazely, who had inhaled some smoke. He went to her side, picked her up, and carried her to the second floor, where the fire had yet to reach. His face was filled with worry as he hurried outside, placing her in the backseat of his car.

It was as if he had forgotten I existed.

I stood by the window, watching him move frantically. But I knew I had to save myself. With no other option, I jumped from the third floor, and before losing consciousness, I luckily managed to dial 199.

I woke up with my body aching. As I opened my eyes, I realized I was in the hospital, and a full day after the fire had passed. Instinctively, I reached for my phone, desperate to find out where my boyfriend was, but the first thing that caught my attention was Kazely's post.

Who says childhood friends can't outshine newcomers? In his heart, I'll always be number one.

I sighed, unsure how to feel or respond. Our friends were likely waiting for us to leave the hospital, but a growing fear crept in—would I become the joke of the group, even though I'm the girlfriend?

Keeping my composure, I calmly commented on her post: "Looks like the dog cage was left open; one got out and is feasting on filth."

The night passed, and the moon rose, but there was still no sign of Carson. It wasn't until the second day after the fire that he finally remembered that he had a girlfriend. One who was lying here, injured, waiting.

Ring ring

"Naia, where are you?" Carson's voice came through.

Sarcastically, I answered, "Too late for you to call; I'm already in heaven."

Carson's voice rose sharply. "Stop joking around and speak properly! Can't you see how worried I am right now?"

"Oh, thanks for your concern," I replied coolly. "But I guess if I'm not at the hospital, there's nowhere else I'd be."

He let out a frustrated sigh. "Can you stop being sarcastic for once? Kazely's a patient, still lying in bed, and you're making it worse by humiliating her. Have you got any conscience left?"

His words left me stunned for a moment. "Wait. Did you forget I'm also in the hospital? Am I not a patient? Or what, am I some kind of superhero now?"

"I don't have the energy to argue with you, Naia. It's always impossible to reason with someone so close-minded. People with dirty minds think everything around them is dirty, too."

Without waiting for a response, he hung up—no goodbye, nothing.

Love is like a delicate balance, a scale that shifts with each weight added. Despite my efforts to maintain harmony with Carson—offering humility, acceptance, tolerance, and compromise. The balance never seemed to tip in my favor. He was unaware of how careless behavior often hurt me, his words cutting deep like a sharp blade.

He'd grow angry when I tried to voice my concerns or share my feelings. Rather than offering comfort or attempting to resolve the issue, he'd accuse me of overthinking, of making a big deal out of nothing; he even said I had a dirty mind. It always felt like I was the only one making an effort in our relationship.

-

Two weeks passed without a visit from Carson. He spent all his time taking care of his childhood friend, Kazely. I didn't even bother checking her social media, but she made sure I saw it anyway, sharing posts that felt taunting as if using her updates to mock me.

One of her posts showed a bag of respiratory medication—an ordinary image, but the caption made it stand out.: "I always feel like I'm still breathing smoke from the fire. Fortunately, his care and gentleness brought me sunshine and rain."

The next day, she posted another picture of her and Carson under the shade of trees. The caption read, "Breathing in the fresh air of nature, the smoke in my lungs is slowly disappearing. I am grateful to have him by my side."

-

Carson finally called on the seventeenth day of my hospital stay to ask about my discharge date. I told him I would be released tomorrow. When the day came, he arrived at the hospital, only to be visibly shaken when he saw my face wrapped in bandages. His expression turned ghostly pale as he said, "What happened to you? Did you seriously hurt your face?"

"The fire started in the kitchen on the third floor. I was close to it, so my face got completely disfigured," I replied, deliberately exaggerating, hoping to provoke some guilt, some concern.

I expected him to embrace me, to hold me tight, and to offer comfort. But he didn't. His hesitation and cold reaction left me unsettled, feeling that he was ready to abandon me.

Breaking the silence, I asked, "Remember when you told me you'd love me no matter how I looked? Do you remember?"

After a long, uncomfortable pause, he finally muttered, "I remember," before turning away, standing stiffly by the window.

Feigning misery, I continued, "What am I supposed to do now?" I longed for him to say, I'll take care of you from now on. But he remained silent as if he couldn't hear me.

His long silence made me chuckle bitterly, and I realized the absurdity of it all. There was no point in continuing this illusion. Slowly, I unwrapped the bandages and got out of bed despite my plastered leg. I was determined to appear strong, even if I wasn't.

With my backpack on, I started limping toward the door.

Hearing my movements, he finally turned, his expression shifting from shock to anger. "Why would you joke about something like that? Are you out of your mind? Do you know how worried I was just now?" he shouted.

Wow. I just found it amusing. Was he really worried just now?