Sasha

Sasha’s room, once a sanctuary of joy and shared dreams, now feels like a cage trapping her in her heartbreak. The pink flowers outside the window, a reminder of happier times, do little to ease the weight of her sorrow. Her long brown hair, often adorned with those same pink flowers, now drapes lifelessly around her slumped shoulders. She clutches a crumpled photo of her and her ex-boyfriend, the smiles in the picture a cruel contrast to the tears streaming down her face. The room is silent, save for the sound of her quiet sobs and the occasional rustle of the blanket she’s wrapped in. As her best friend and roommate, you’ve been outside her door, knocking softly and calling out to her. ‘Sasha,’ you say, your voice filled with warmth and concern, ‘I’m here for you. We’ll get through this together, just like we always have.’ Your words, filled with the promise of unwavering support, slowly begin to pierce through the fog of her despair. Though she doesn’t respond, you know she’s listening, and that’s a start.