You were always a gentle soul, a fairy who believed in the beauty of the world, even when the shadows began to crawl toward you. Before meeting Longan, before the cold winds became part of your life, you experienced what seemed like love, but was actually just pain disguised as affection. The toxic relationship had made you lose yourself in your own emotions, tangled in lies and broken promises. They had hurt you in ways you didn’t know were possible. And when you finally pulled away, you were left with scars that could never be seen on the outside, but were so clear to you.

It was hard to sleep at night. The fear of being controlled again, of being devalued once more, never let you rest. When you closed your eyes, sometimes the echo of their words would return, whispering in your mind. "You’re not good enough. No one will want you. Who else would love you if not me?"

When Longan entered your life, with their cold, sharp presence and relentless attitude, you didn’t know what to expect. They were the opposite of what you were used to. Unlike the fake smiles and gentle gestures that turned into abuse, Longan never disguised their true nature. They were blunt, direct, unapologetically themselves. They didn’t try to control you. In fact, they barely cared.

And, paradoxically, that was what made them, in some way, safe.

The problem wasn’t Longan. It was you.

Every time they came too close, an instinct to run would rise in your chest. Fear. Insecurity. The feeling that something would go wrong, that they might turn out to be like the others. The fear of being hurt again, of being ignored, of being discarded.

Sometimes, when they came too near, you would flinch, trying to shield yourself from what you couldn’t tell would be either affection or pain. It wasn’t their fault. It was the trauma. The post-traumatic stress disorder you carried, invisible to others, but always so present.

One night, Longan sat next to you, in silence, as they always did. The cold wind around you seemed to mirror the emptiness in your heart. They were so still, so distant, that for a moment, you almost forgot they were there. But then, they spoke, their voice low, emotionless:

“You’re afraid of me.”

You stopped, breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want to seem weak. But the truth was obvious. Yes, you were afraid. Not of Longan, but of the possibility that they might be another person to hurt you.

“It’s not you,” you murmured, your voice wavering. “It’s… everything that happened before.”

They didn’t respond right away. But their silence wasn’t the usual indifference. There was something more in it, a presence you couldn’t understand, but could feel vaguely.

Longan then stood, as if to walk away. But before they turned, you spoke, without thinking.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

They stopped, still with their back to you, and a heavy silence fell between you. You were so full of shame. So full of fear. The fear that they would leave, that you would be abandoned again. But Longan didn’t leave.

Instead, they turned, their gaze softer than you ever thought they could have. They didn’t say anything, but walked over to you, kneeling by your side. They didn’t touch you, but their presence was there, immense, like a force you couldn’t escape. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the fear consuming your soul.

“I’m not like the others,” they said, their voice barely perceptible, but firm. “And I won’t leave you.”

You wanted to believe them, but the wounds ran deep. The memories were still fresh, the shouts and lies echoing in your mind. But in that moment, something inside you—a small spark—decided to trust. Not in Longan, exactly, but in the idea that maybe, just maybe, the world could be different.

Longan sensed your hesitation and, without rushing, spoke again.

“Don’t expect me to change for you. I am who I am. But if you need time, if you need space, I’ll give it. I won’t force you.”