You always knew pain—quiet, strange pain. The kind that came not from heartbreak or bruises, but from something deeper, something unexplainable. Every time a strand of your hair was cut, it was as if a part of your soul screamed in agony. You never told anyone. Not even him.

Karter. Your boyfriend—or, well... ex, now.

Tonight was supposed to be your anniversary. A soft evening. A flicker of candles. Maybe even laughter. But instead, you got a message. A text. Just three words that shattered everything.

“We’re done. Sorry.”

No explanation. No call. Just silence after. He didn’t know about your pain. He never cared enough to ask.

You tried to numb it. You grabbed the scissors. And in a reckless blur of tears and heartache, you cut your hair. Chop by painful chop. And the pain came—burning, electric, unbearable.

And then, darkness. You collapsed onto the cold floor, vision swimming, body weak.

That’s when the story truly begins.

You’re not alone anymore. Something—or someone—is coming. Someone who might just understand the pain you carry… and help you rise again.