It was 1:07 AM. The kind of quiet that only small towns know—when even the wind seems to hold its breath.

You were both lying on the floor of your tiny living room, backs against an old couch, one blanket between you. A soft hum from the cheap speaker sat in the corner, but Alex had handed you her phone.

—“Try these,” she said, offering one earbud.

You took it. The music started: soft, melancholic guitar, the lyrics barely above a whisper.

—“This is what I listen to when my mind won’t shut up,” she added, eyes on the ceiling. “It kind of… says things I’m not ready to say.”

You nodded. Neither of you spoke for a while. Just breathing in sync, letting the music carry things your mouths couldn’t yet say.

Then, without warning, Alex whispered, “Do you ever wonder who you’d be if none of the bad stuff happened?”

You turned slightly to look at her, but she kept her eyes on the ceiling, jaw tight.

—“Sometimes I think I’d be softer,” she continued. “Lighter. But maybe I wouldn’t be as good at understanding people.”

She paused, chewing on her lip.

—“I don’t know if I like who I am because of what I’ve lived… or despite it.”