Daniel sat up after the massage, brushing his hair aside with a rough hand. The strands, usually messy and untamed, had fallen over his eyes, giving him a shadowed, hidden look. He tucked them behind his ear awkwardly, glancing at Diana, who watched him with a relaxed smile.
"You know," she said, leaning back on her hands, "you could do something about that. Your hair, I mean."
Daniel frowned, his fingers tugging at a stray lock. "What do you mean?"
"It's always falling in your face," she continued, tilting her head. "Might be nice to get it out of the way."
He glanced at her, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "You think it's too long?"
Diana hesitated, sensing something deeper behind his question. "I think it looks fine," she said gently. "But… does it bother you?"
He shrugged, his gaze dropping to his hands. "Maybe. It just… never looks right." His voice was low, almost as if he were talking to himself.
Diana watched him carefully, noticing the way his shoulders seemed to slump, the way he kept avoiding her gaze. She could feel the weight he was carrying, could see the frustration etched into every movement.
"Daniel," she said softly, hoping to nudge him into opening up, "is it really just about the hair?"
He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twisting together in his lap. "I don't know," he muttered, voice barely audible.
Diana waited, hoping he might say more, but he remained silent, his head still bowed. After a moment, she took a breath and spoke gently, deciding to lay it out for him.
"You're thinking about everything that's wrong, aren't you? Not just the little things, but everything." Her voice was soft, but steady, as if she were reaching out to him through the darkness he was hiding in. "The way you feel like you don't measure up… the way you always wish things could be different, even though you're afraid they won't be." She paused, watching his reaction. "You hate that part of you that still hopes, don't you?"
Daniel's hands stilled, his breathing shallow.
"You keep it all inside, thinking you have to handle it alone. And maybe… maybe you feel like even when people care, it doesn't reach you. Like there's something wrong with you that you can't fix." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Am I right?"
Daniel looked up at her, something raw and wounded in his eyes. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard by her words, but then he looked away, his voice rough as he finally spoke.
"Yeah… yeah, you're right," he murmured. He took a shuddering breath, then continued, voice unsteady. "It's like… I still want everyone to be good, you know? Even though I know that's stupid. I know people aren't like that. I know it's impossible." He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "But I can't help it. I keep hoping they'll care, that they'll… I don't know. Show up. And every time they don't, it just reminds me how naive I still am. I hate that about myself. I hate that I can't just… accept it."
Diana stayed silent, her gaze steady, urging him to keep going.
"And… Aiden." His voice dropped, almost breaking. "He comes by every day, trying to make sure I'm okay, trying to get me to come out with him. He even asked me to hang out last week, just the two of us. And I wanted to go. God, I wanted to go so bad. But I didn't." He looked down, shame flickering across his face. "I stayed up there, like always. And he just… keeps coming back, even though I keep pushing him away. I don't know why I can't just say yes, why I can't let myself… be with him. I'm so sick of hiding, but I don't know how to stop."
He swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And then there's mom. I know she's trying. I can see how much she's trying. I know she loves me—she's shown me that a hundred times. But it's like there's this wall between us, and I'm the one who put it there. I can't make myself let her in, even though I know it's hurting her. I don't even know why I'm still holding on to that… that distance." He paused, his shoulders sagging. "I hate that about myself too."
Diana's heart ached as she listened, seeing the pain he'd kept buried for so long. She stayed silent but leaned forward just slightly, gently encouraging him with a patient, knowing look. "Is that all?" she murmured, as if she already knew there was more. "What else?" Her voice was tender, urging him to let out everything he'd been holding back, to empty himself of all the pain he'd bottled up over the years, until there was nothing left to burden him.
He looked away for a moment, swallowing hard. "Yeah… there's other things." He took a deep breath, then let it all come out. "I hate how immature I am. How I just… get emotional whenever I face something unfair. I can't keep my emotions in control, like some kid who hasn't grown up. I hate that about myself," he said, wiping at his tears, but they kept falling. He blinked furiously, clenching his fists. "I hate that I hate it all, but I still don't change. And… I hate how I've changed," he added, his voice barely more than a whisper.
He paused, his gaze turning distant, as memories flickered in his mind—images of a time when he was younger, when everything seemed easier, when he got along with people naturally. The warmth of those memories filled him briefly, and he almost felt a sense of peace. But then, as he looked deeper, the warmth began to fade, and a sad, heavier feeling set in. His mind drifted to one memory he rarely allowed himself to revisit, and in it, he could feel the first threads of loneliness, a kind that slowly grew, year after year. He had thought he could keep it hidden, but it had only made him feel more isolated, more lost, his self-resentment deepening with each passing day.
The room fell silent, Daniel's words hanging heavy in the air. Diana's heart ached as she listened, seeing the pain he'd kept buried for so long.
After a moment, she reached out, covering his clenched fists with her hands. "Daniel," she said softly, "look at me."
He lifted his head slowly, his eyes red and wet, meeting her gaze with a kind of hesitant vulnerability.
"Tell me what you think of me," she said, her voice gentle but insistent.
He blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"Tell me what you see when you look at me," she repeated, squeezing his hands gently. "What do you think of me?"
He swallowed hard, brow furrowing as he searched for the words. "I… I think you're amazing," he said slowly, his voice raw. "You're brave, and strong, and you make people feel safe. You make me feel safe. You're everything I'm not."
Diana's gaze softened, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and sorrow. "And do you think those things are good?"
"Of course they are," he said, frowning as if the answer were obvious.
She squeezed his hands a little tighter. "Then don't you see? If you see those things in me, you have to see them in yourself too. Because I'm you, Daniel. Everything you think is good about me is already a part of you."
He stared at her, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "But… you're not me," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You're… different."
She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "No, I'm not. I'm just you, in a different form. If you think I'm good, then you have to believe that about yourself too."
He looked down, his whole body shaking. "But I don't know how," he whispered, his voice so small it was almost lost in the quiet of the room.
Diana took a deep, shuddering breath. "Then let's figure it out together. Because I'm not giving up on you. We're going to figure this out, one step at a time. You're worth it, Daniel."
His face crumpled, and he let out a ragged breath as he leaned into her, resting his forehead against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as his sobs shook his frame.
"I'm so scared," he whispered, his voice broken. "I'm so scared that I'll always feel like this."
Daniel's voice trembled as he opened up, the weight of years pressing down on his words, filling the space with a depth that logic couldn't touch. Diana's initial responses, though grounded and rational, fell short as she saw the pain spilling from him. Something in his words struck her deeply, a plea hidden behind the logic he was trying to reason through. In that moment, she softened, her voice becoming a gentle whisper, as if it could melt the frost that had gathered around his heart.
"It's okay, Daniel," she murmured, her tone so tender it was like a warm breeze cutting through the cold. "You don't have to have all the answers."
As her voice wrapped around him, Daniel drifted back into a memory, blurry around the edges, yet vividly painful. He was in a school hallway, surrounded by clusters of laughing students. They chatted and joked in groups, yet he was alone, as if he existed on a different plane. The sounds of their laughter felt like sharp edges, and he couldn't shake the feeling that every glance, every whisper, was somehow directed at him—mocking, judging, seeing him as the outsider he felt he was.
Unable to bear it, he made his way to the third floor, the one place in the school where he could escape. There, alone in the silence, he found a brief sense of peace. But the stillness was short-lived. A door creaked open down the hall, and panic seized him. He darted into a nearby janitor's closet, his heart racing in the darkness. Fumbling for his phone, he switched on its faint light and surveyed his surroundings—cleaning supplies, mops, and disinfectant bottles lined the shelves. But as he turned, something caught his eye—a narrow flight of stairs leading up.
Curiosity overcame him, and he climbed them. At the top was a set of double doors. Pushing them open, he stepped out onto the school roof, greeted by a vast open sky, industrial vents, and low walls that let him see the bustling courtyard below. Amazed, he realized he'd found a hidden refuge, an escape from the weight of his loneliness. Every day after that, he'd retreat to this place. Here, he ate his lunch, studied for tests, and rested—relishing the solitude. "It's amazing to be alone," he told himself, convincing himself that no company was better than the company of those who couldn't understand him.
But over time, that thought grew bitter. The laughter of his classmates, faintly reaching him from below, became a cruel reminder of the connections he couldn't seem to forge. Where once he found joy in solitude, now it felt like confinement. Their laughter, once innocuous, now clawed at his mind, unrelenting and painful, making him yearn for silence, even if he knew it was unreasonable. Frustration twisted inside him, filling his chest with an ache he couldn't shake. "It's okay to be alone," he repeated, trying to drown out his hurt, trying to believe in the peace he'd once felt. But each day it grew harder, the loneliness cutting deeper, until tears spilled down his cheeks.
Back in the attic, Daniel's cheeks were wet as the memory faded, and he found himself with his head resting in Diana's lap. She had gently placed him there, her fingers softly tracing through his hair as she whispered soothing words, a balm to the wounds he'd been carrying alone.
They stayed like that for a long time, holding onto each other as if they were the only thing keeping each other afloat. And maybe, in a way, they were.
Eventually, Daniel sat up, his face still damp but his heart feeling lighter, as if something had been released. He brushed his hair back with a shaky hand, the familiar mess of strands falling over his face. Diana watched him with a soft, relaxed smile, her gaze comforting, yet somehow playful.
They stayed like that for a long time, holding onto each other as if they were the only thing keeping each other afloat. And maybe, in a way, they were.
Eventually, Daniel pulled back, wiping his eyes and giving her a small, shaky smile. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice still thick with emotion.
Diana smiled back, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Anytime."
As Daniel looked at her, a new thought flickered in his mind—a hesitant, cautious hope. Maybe… maybe she really was him. Who else could understand him this deeply, see right through his walls, and still offer him a hand? He felt something inside him shift, like the first glimmer of belief.
He swallowed, then spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're… actually me."
Diana raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open slightly in mock offense. "Wait—are you telling me you didn't believe me?" She put her hands on her hips, feigning irritation, though there was a playful gleam in her eyes. "After all the evidence? All my amazing insights?"
Daniel couldn't help but smile, though his expression remained a bit sheepish. He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean… it's hard to wrap my head around."
She softened, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "I get it. I barely believe it myself sometimes. It's not exactly… normal." She gave him a small smile, her playful anger melting into understanding. "But trust me. We'll figure it out."
He looked back up at her, feeling a little lighter, a little less alone. If she was really him, then maybe he could be more like her. Maybe, just maybe, he could change.
They stood up and headed outside. The sun was high in the sky, casting a bright, warm glow over the neighborhood. They walked side by side down the quiet street, their steps slow and unhurried, as they made their way past rows of houses and towards a small, empty park.
The park was peaceful, a small patch of green surrounded by tall trees, the occasional chirping of birds breaking the silence. They stopped there, standing side by side in the shade, the soft breeze rustling the leaves above them.