Gianna sat by the large bay window in her room, her knees tucked to her chest as she stared out at the cityscape. The lights of New York blinked and shimmered in the distance, but tonight they felt distant, almost unreachable. The world outside was moving, bustling with life, but inside, it felt like time was standing still.
Her mind kept drifting back to the events of the past few days. Ethan had been acting strange—more distant, more preoccupied. He had always been a little self-centered, but lately, it was as if he barely noticed her. She tried not to dwell on it, but the nagging feeling in her gut wouldn't go away. Something was off.
Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her. She glanced at the screen—another message from her best friend, Mia. Gianna sighed, picking it up.
Mia: "Are you coming out tonight? You can't keep staying in, Gi. I know things are weird, but you need a break."
Gianna hesitated. Part of her wanted to go, to pretend everything was fine and let Mia's carefree energy wash away the growing weight in her chest. But another part of her—the part that was beginning to grow louder—wanted to be alone. She didn't know what to say, or how to explain the strange emptiness that had been creeping in. It was like a quiet storm, slowly gathering, just waiting to break.
Gianna: "Not tonight. I'm just not feeling it."
She hit send and tossed the phone back on the bed. The truth was, she hadn't been feeling much of anything lately. At least, not anything she could name. There was this hollow ache she couldn't quite shake, a sense of... what? Loss? Confusion? It didn't make sense. Her life was fine—normal, even. Nothing terrible had happened. Yet, the restlessness gnawed at her.
She stood up and walked over to her desk, her fingers tracing the edges of the books scattered across the surface. Schoolwork, novels she'd started but hadn't finished. Her life had once felt structured, predictable. But now... now it felt like something was about to change. Like the ground beneath her feet wasn't as solid as she thought.
Gianna caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging on the wall. Her dark hair, usually neat, was tousled, and her eyes—once bright with a quiet curiosity—looked tired. She leaned in closer, studying her reflection. Who was she, really? She had always been the quiet one, the one who followed the rules, who blended into the background. But lately, that version of herself felt foreign, like an old sweater that no longer fit.
A knock at her door startled her out of her thoughts.
"Gianna?" It was her mother's voice, soft but laced with concern. "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
Gianna paused, her hand gripping the edge of the desk. "Yeah, Mom. I'm fine," she called back, trying to sound more sure than she felt.
There was a brief silence before her mother spoke again. "Dinner's ready whenever you're hungry."
"Thanks, I'll be down in a minute."
She waited until she heard her mother's footsteps retreat down the hallway before letting out a long breath. Her relationship with her mom had always been good—stable, even. But even that felt... off, lately. Her mom had been more distant, preoccupied with things Gianna couldn't quite put her finger on. There were times when she caught her mother looking at her with a strange, almost sad expression, like she was holding back something.
She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away. Maybe it was just her imagination running wild. Maybe it was all in her head.
But deep down, Gianna knew something was coming. She didn't know what it was, or when it would happen, but she could feel it. Like the way you can sense a storm before it hits—the air gets heavier, the sky darkens just a little, and the wind changes direction. It was that kind of feeling.
Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Ethan.
Ethan: "Busy tonight. Talk later."
Gianna stared at the message, her stomach sinking. Another excuse. Another night where he couldn't be bothered to spend time with her. She closed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the phone. She wanted to be angry, but all she felt was a dull ache. She wasn't sure which was worse—the anger or the numbness.
She dropped the phone onto her bed, biting her lip. Something had to change. She couldn't keep living in this limbo, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone else to make her feel whole again. For the first time, the thought crossed her mind: Maybe she needed to take control. Maybe the version of herself she'd always been wasn't enough anymore.
She took a deep breath and stood up, walking toward the window. The city lights blinked back at her, the hum of distant cars rising up like a constant reminder that life was still moving. And maybe, just maybe, she needed to start moving with it