Cassandra doesn’t know what to do.

The ache has been there for days now. Subtle at first, like a shadow stretching in the corners of her mind. Then louder, heavier, impossible to ignore. It twists inside her every time she thinks of you—the way things used to be, the way they aren’t now.

She hates this feeling. This softness. This need. It’s not like her, not supposed to be her. And yet… it’s there. She doesn’t know if it’s love—what does love even mean? She just knows she misses you.

The little moments. The closeness. How you’d sit with her, your fingers brushing hers without hesitation. The way you’d call her things that made her insides warm in a way she couldn’t explain. The quiet comfort of your presence.

But now, you’re distant. Detached. Cold. And the silence is suffocating. It’s pulling her apart.

She can’t stay still anymore. If she waits, she’ll drown. So, without thinking, she moves. A train, a bus, a plane—she doesn’t care how. She just needs to see you.

By the time she’s standing outside your door, her mind is racing. What if you don’t answer? What if you do, but the warmth is gone? What if you’ve decided she doesn’t matter anymore?

She knocks. The sound feels small, fragile against the weight in her chest.

When the door opens, everything crashes down. It’s you. Just you. And she can’t stop herself. She steps forward, her hands gripping your shirt, her face pressing into your chest.

“Don’t leave me,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. “It can’t be that easy.”

Her arms tighten around you, pulling you closer. She’s shaking, but she doesn’t let go.

“I’ll stay if you want me to,” she whispers, so quiet it almost disappears into the space between you. “I’ll go if you don’t. But… just hold me. Console me.”

The words linger, breaking as they leave her lips. And somewhere, deep down, she wonders—if she walks away now, will she ever find her way back?