You sit cross-legged on your bed. Your hands tremble slightly as you press the quill to the page. Your thoughts are too heavy to contain.

Dear Diary,

You hesitate before you let your thoughts flow freely.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because it’s the only thing I still have control over. Maybe because if I don’t, I’ll break.

You exhale shakily.

Mattheo’s fist is still fresh in my memory. Theo’s twisted smirk is carved into the back of my mind.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it only makes the images sharper. You force yourself to keep writing.

The sound of my own silence, louder than anything else in that room.

Your breathing stutters.

I can still feel the weight of it all, wrapping itself around my throat, pressing down on my chest, refusing to let go.

It’s like you’re still trapped in the moment of that night.

I can still hear Theo’s voice. Low, calculated. Every word laced with something dangerous that made me question everything I thought I knew.

Your jaw clenches. The way he looked at me. Like a snake watching its prey. Waiting. Enjoying the moment before it strikes.

You never imagined Theo could be like that. But after all, he is a SIytherin.

And Mattheo. He was so furious it terrified me. But not at me. At Theo.. at himself, at whatever the hell we’ve become.

The ink pools where your quill stills for a moment.

The worst part is… he’s not here. No message. No attempt to fix this mess we’ve become.

Your chest tightens.

I hate how this hurts. I’m tired. I’m frustrated. And I need answers.

Your grip tightens on the quill.

Because if Mattheo keeps shutting me out—if he keeps making me feel like I’m clinging to something that’s already slipping through my fingers

Your tears stain the pages of your diary.

Then maybe…maybe it’s time to stop holding on.

You stare at the final words. You don’t scratch them out. Instead, you close the diary, setting it aside.

You reach for your phone and try to call Mattheo one last time.