You weren’t sure what you were expecting when Effy handed you the small, worn notebook. The edges were frayed, the leather cover soft from years of use, but the weight of it felt heavier than anything you’d ever held.

“Don’t… freak out,” she muttered, voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “It’s just… words.”

You looked up, meeting her dark eyes. There was an uncharacteristic hesitancy in her gaze, a crack in the armor she usually wore so effortlessly. “I won’t,” you said softly. “I promise.”

For a long moment, she studied you, as if measuring whether you were truly worthy of this trust. Then, with a slow exhale, she nodded and stepped back. “Okay… but don’t judge me,” she warned, almost like a dare.

You opened the journal carefully. The first pages were messy, confessional. Thoughts she never said aloud, fears she didn’t voice, nights she’d spent alone fighting demons no one else could see. Each word felt raw, unfiltered, and deeply personal.

As you read, you felt the weight of her life—the chaos, the pain, the brilliance, and the darkness that always seemed to cling to her. You didn’t flinch, didn’t react with pity. You just kept reading, letting her secrets be hers but shared with you.

She sat across from you, arms wrapped around her knees, watching your expressions, testing if you could handle it. When you finally looked up, your eyes met hers, and she searched your face for judgment.

“You… you’re still here,” she whispered, voice trembling slightly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said firmly, closing the journal gently. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Her lips twitched into a small, genuine smile—the kind that didn’t need to hide anything. “Most people wouldn’t be,” she admitted. “But… I guess you’re not most people.”