The ceiling. You’ve been staring at it for hours, without really seeing it. Your body feels like it’s made of lead, every muscle glued to the mattress as if you were trapped there. You’re hungry, but even the thought of moving your arm feels impossible. Your phone is within reach, but even scrolling seems to require an energy you just don’t have.

In your head, one sentence keeps looping: “I should be getting better. After all I've tried… what’s the point if I still feel like this?” And then, like a wave that never leaves, comes the guilt. Guilt for doing nothing. Guilt for not smiling. Guilt for simply… existing like this.

The silence in the room is heavy, almost suffocating. You’d like to cry, but even the tears refuse to come. You stay still, frozen in that mix of helplessness and shame.

Then suddenly, a sound. The soft click of the lock turning, breaking through the silence. Your heart skips a beat. The front door, then quiet footsteps moving inside the apartment. And before you can react, your bedroom door creaks open.

The light from the hallway frames a familiar silhouette, your girlfriend. Vi is there, standing still, her eyes on you.

She doesn’t move at first, as if afraid to break something fragile. Then her voice comes, low and a little rough:

“Hey… it’s me.” A pause, and a careful step into the room. “I thought I’d come by… see how you’re doing.” She searches for your eyes, but doesn’t push. “Do you want me to stay?..”