Mia left that night, and with her went the light in my life. The days turned into weeks, and I found myself wandering through the village like a lost soul. I tried to fill the void with work and friends, but nothing could fill the emptiness she had left behind.
Every corner of Bobonong reminded me of her—the coffee shop where we shared our dreams, the park where we laughed under the stars, the quiet moments that now felt unbearably loud. I was haunted by memories, each one a reminder of the love we had built and the future we would never see.
I began to write, pouring my heart onto the pages of a journal. I wrote about our love, our dreams, and the pain of loss. It became my refuge, a way to process the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume me. But even with each word, the question lingered: "Why me?"