The next day, I couldn't get Rose out of my mind. She hadn't looked well when she walked out of the bar, swaying and pale.
I knew better than to push her—Rose was closed off, hard to read. But something about her vulnerability made me want to reach out, to make sure she was okay.
Just thinking about her made me feel restless, so I casually asked Keith about her, trying to play it cool. "She's always at the library," Keith said with a shrug, like it was nothing. Maybe I would find her there, so I decided to go check for myself.

The library was almost empty and quiet, which made it easier for me to find her. She was sitting alone on a table in the study section, her head bent over a book, completely absorbed in whatever story she was reading.
I couldn't help but notice the tired lines around her eyes.
The memory of her leaning on me the night before, her voice tired and slurred, crossed my mind.
I wanted to say something, to bridge the gap between us, but no words came.
I barely knew her, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that I wanted to help her.

I slipped closer, reaching into my bag for a small card with my number scribbled on it.
Carefully, I tucked it into the side pocket of her bag, hoping she wouldn't see. It was a bold move, maybe even reckless, but it felt like the only way I could let her know I was here if she ever needed someone.

A final glance at her, and I slipped out of the library, my heart pounding from the adrenaline of it.

I found myself walking into the café next door. I ordered a coffee, but my thoughts weren't on the drink. Instead, I realised I was daydreaming about Rose—her quiet strength, the way she seemed distant but vulnerable at the same time. I wondered if she'd find the card, if she'd even reach out.

My mind was tangled up in all the what-ifs, making me barely notice when the door got slammed open, but someone familiar walked in. My stomach twisted as I saw him..

It was Ryan.

I froze. My heart sank in my chest, and suddenly the café felt so mall, even suffocating.

He walked in like he owned the place, his swagger unmistakable. I hated how I still immediately recognized it, how his confidence made me feel small, like I was supposed to feel honored just by being near him. He was the kind of guy who could make you feel like you were the only one in the room that mattered, only to turn around and tear you apart when you were alone.

I had learned that the hard way. When we first got together, he seemed like he was the perfect partner. He listened to me when I talked about my dreams and my future plans, acted like he cared about me. He made me feel like I was special, like he was my biggest supporter. But then his true colours started to shine trough. His friends were cruel to me—mocking anything I did or said, calling my music a stupid, a joke—and Ryan just stood there, laughing along with them. He never had my back or stood up for me. I tried to convince myself it wasn't that bad, but I couldn't ignore how he broke away my self confidence.

And then he would tell me, "I never said that I don't like your music, Ella, I just think you're wasting your time. Lets be honest here, you'll never make it. You should focus on something more of use." Every time I played or sang, it felt like a reminder that my dreams didn't matter to him. And still, I stayed. I told myself it was normal, that I was lucky to have him at all. That I couldn't do any better.

But things kept escalating. His already cruel words, turned into something darker. He put me down when we were alone, calling my ambition pathetic, always wanting me to do more. His friends didn't care, either. They always acted like they were too cool to support me, too good for me. When I spoke up about it, Ryan's response was always the same—"They're just joking, Ella. You need to learn to laugh at yourself."

The laughter never stopped, but the jokes stopped being funny. I started to shrink inside myself, doubting everything, even my love for music.

And it only got worse and worse. The emotional abuse turned physical, and it was like the world had tilted sideways. I had to watch my every step. I started fearing the moment he would come home, not knowing if it would be a night of yelling or worse. I could still remember the first time he hit me, hard enough to make me bruise.

One night, I packed what I could carry, took a deep breath, and walked out. It wasn't easy.

For months, I found myself trying to get my life back together, finding a way to live without him hovering over me, making me feel worthless. Music became my lifeline, my escape. I let the melodies become my voice, the one thing no one could take from me.

But Ryan didn't let go. Even after I blocked him, he found a way back. He stalked my social media, he still does, leaving small traces of himself in every comment or like. I always try to ignore him, but it takes me back to when I was with him, every bad thing that happened coming up.

And now, here he was.

I turned away, hoping he wouldn't notice me. The last thing I needed was another confrontation with him, especially now. I was just starting to feel like myself again. My coffee sat untouched as I tried to steady my breathing, the nausea rising in my stomach.

I wanted to walk away as fast as possible, but I couldn't. Not without causing a scene, not without him seeing my fear. I couldn't let him win again.

I tried to refocus, reminding myself that I didn't have to let him control me anymore. I thought about Rose. She was distant, closed off—much like I had been before I learned to fight back. Maybe we were alike, both carrying scars from things we couldn't change. I couldn't help but feel a pull toward her, as if there was something in her that echoed my story.

After a few deep breaths, I grabbed my coffee and left the café, leaving Ryan and the memories of him behind. I tried to shake off the unease, but I knew it wouldn't be the last time his shadow haunted me.

The rest of the day passed slowly, but Rose kept finding her way back into my mind. I wondered if she'd find the card, if she'd even think to use it. It felt strange to want so badly to reach someone who probably didn't even notice me, but something about her drew me in. She had this quiet strength about her, like she'd been through a lot but wasn't letting it show—and it made me wonder what her story really was.

Later on the evening, I felt my phone buzz. It was a number I didn't recognize, and for a split second, my heart leapt with hope. I opened the message, hoping for it to be Rose. But when I saw who it was, my stomach dropped. It wasn't Rose. It was him—Ryan.

"Hey. Been a while. Miss you."

Just seeing his words on my screen made my skin crawl. I thought about deleting the message, blocking him yet again. But something in me froze. The fear crept back, tightening in my chest like it always did when he found a new way to reach out. I took a deep breath, telling myself it was nothing, that he was just looking for attention. He didn't have power over me anymore, not unless I let him.

In the quiet that followed, I found myself hoping Rose would reach out, that she'd call or text, maybe ask for someone to talk to. I wasn't used to letting people in; I'd spent too much of my life building walls, trying to protect myself from ever being hurt like that again. But with Rose, it felt different, like maybe we could help each other heal from the pasts we kept hidden.