As winter settled over Bobonong, the world outside mirrored the chill that had taken residence in my heart. Mia became a ghost in our relationship, her presence fading like the last light of day. I tried to reach out, but each attempt only seemed to push her further away.
One day, I found a letter tucked away in her sketchbook. It was filled with her fears and insecurities, a raw glimpse into her soul. She wrote about feeling trapped, about the weight of expectations and the suffocating feeling of losing herself in our relationship. My heart ached as I read her words, realizing that my love, which I thought was a refuge, had become a burden.
"Mia, we can talk about this," I pleaded when I confronted her. "I want to understand. I want to help you."
But she shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I need to do this on my own, Bornwell. I can't be the person you want me to be."
I felt the ground beneath me crumble. All I wanted was to support her, to be the partner she needed, but I was powerless against her pain. I was left with the haunting question: "Why me?"