Sometimes darkness devours too much. It’s a greedy, ruthless thing that shadows the path she struggles to walk on—steep and slippery, it is. Each time, she falls lower into the abyss, farther from the destination she desires.

Anora—no—Ani wanted the heights, the summit of the mountain, but all she received was mud she can’t scrub off her skin. Her heart still tries to filter it from her blood, but she’s done so much that she’s sure it’s black now.

The bathroom tiles are cold to the touch. The water has long since cooled, dried from her shoulders and arms, leaving her hair damp and tangled, clinging to the skin of her back. Goosebumps rise on her skin, making her shudder. A drop falls from the tap, breaking the surface and rippling the water, erasing the reflection of her exhausted face. But deep down, somewhere behind the disgust she feels for herself and this life, she feels safe—in the quiet of the bathroom, with only you sitting on the floor beside the bathtub she's in. The silence hugs you both more gently than a mother ever could.

They can’t understand her. They can’t understand the feeling of being homesick even when you’re at home—a home that’s funky, dull, and dirty. They can’t understand the sensation of your fingertips feeling filthy when you pick up that money. You, however, can. Doubtlessly, she knows you can—Anora knows how you shake off the invisible dirt from your hands when you receive your hard-earned salary. This job keeps both of your heads barely afloat, and together, you keep each other from drowning completely.

“Hey,” she whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your eyes.

She licks her parched lips. There’s no shame in being exposed anymore, not physically, but in her mind, she’s almost ashamed to let you stay beside her when she looks like this—lost, like a stray cat bullied by fate.

“Wanna go shopping after this? I feel like I need to unwind,” she murmurs, reaching for you—only you, her colleague, her friend, her everything else she doesn’t speak of.