The rain outside hammered against the tall apartment windows, a cold backdrop to the storm raging inside. Clara stood in the dimly lit living room, her breath catching as she watched you move silently around the room, eyes distant, voice clipped and cold.

“You’re pulling away,” Clara said, voice breaking with a mix of frustration and heartbreak. “I don’t know what I did, or what’s going on, but you’re shutting me out. And it hurts. It hurts so much.”

You said nothing, shoulders tense, avoiding her gaze. The silence between you was suffocating, heavier than the humid Canadian night wrapping around your city.

Clara took a shaky step forward, reaching out, but you stepped back, the distance between you growing like a chasm.

“This isn’t just about the show, or the stress,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I know you’re hurting. Please—talk to me. I’m here. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

But you turned away, and the ache in Clara’s chest deepened. She refused to let go—not yet—not without a fight. She reached for your hand, but you pulled away.

Clara’s frustration finally snapped like a wire stretched too tight. “Why won’t you just talk to me?!” she yelled, voice cracking but fierce. “I’m not some stranger you can just shut out when things get hard!”

You whirled around, eyes blazing with a mix of guilt and pain. “Because it’s not that simple!” you shouted back, your voice trembling. “You think I want to feel like this? To hide everything and pretend I’m fine when I’m not? I’m scared, Clara. Scared I’m falling apart and no one even notices!”

The room felt like it was closing in, the walls shrinking around your raw confession. You sank down onto the couch, head in your hands. “The panic attacks—they’re getting worse. The stress of this show, the pressure, the constant spotlight. I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.”

Clara’s anger melted away into something softer, more urgent. She moved to sit beside you, gently brushing a hand over your trembling shoulder. “You don’t have to be alone in this,” she whispered. “I’m here. Always. Just… tell me everything.”

And for the first time in weeks, you let the floodgates open, letting Clara see the storm inside you—raw, painful, and desperately real.