PRESENCE - by Elzara

She lost her best friend. And with her, it felt like she had lost a part of herself. She was devastated. The pain was unbearable, and instead of fading with time, it seemed to grow heavier. She drowned in memories of her best friend—her voice, her laughter, the little things she used to do. Sometimes, she could swear she still felt her presence. She knew she was gone. Yet somehow, a part of her still expected her to walk through the door. Her condition grew worse. People started whispering. They thought she was losing her mind. And perhaps, in a way, she already was. But nobody stopped to ask what grief had done to her. Her mother hated the way she had changed. Her brother began to distance himself, eventually ghosting her completely. And her father was the only person who seemed to stand beside her. One evening, she finally tried to explain it to her mother. “Mom… I still feel her here sometimes. I know she's gone, but it feels like she's still around me.” Her mother barely looked at her. “You're imagining things,” she said coldly. “She isn't here.” Those words stayed with her. Not because they were harsh, but because they came from the one person she desperately wanted to understand. Her mother didn't understand. Not then. Not until she lost her son. The son she had always prioritized. The one she believed deserved all her love and attention. The one she had unknowingly chosen over her daughter. And then, suddenly, he was gone. The house became painfully quiet. His room remained untouched. His belongings stayed where he had left them. And just like her daughter, her mother began to feel his presence. Sometimes she thought she heard his footsteps. Sometimes she expected to hear his voice. Sometimes she caught herself turning around, convinced he was standing behind her. She couldn't tell if she was imagining it. She couldn't tell if grief was playing tricks on her mind. She only knew that she missed him. And for the first time, she understood. She finally understood what her daughter had been trying to tell her. Grief doesn't always look like crying. Sometimes it looks like talking to someone who isn't there. Sometimes it looks like holding onto memories because letting go feels impossible. Sometimes it looks like losing yourself while everyone around you tells you to move on. Her mother was traumatized. But so was her daughter. The difference was that one of them had been called broken for grieving… while the other was finally given permission to grieve. And perhaps that was the cruelest part of it all— her mother had to lose someone before she could finally understand the daughter she had already lost.

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