HANNAH
The dim light from the TV flickered in the corner of my apartment, casting shadows on the walls. I sat curled up on the couch, the blanket I threw over myself doing little to keep out the coldness that had settled in my chest. The movie on the screen had long since become background noise. I wasn't paying attention. My mind was somewhere else—somewhere darker.
I scooped another spoonful of melting ice cream into my mouth. I barely tasted it. The coldness did nothing to numb the hollow ache in my stomach. The loneliness was thick, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket that I couldn’t shake off. I glanced around the apartment, the silence in the room almost deafening. It was quiet. Too quiet. I wasn’t used to being alone like this.
But it wasn't just the emptiness of the space. It was the emptiness inside me. It had been building for weeks, for months. Maybe even longer. I tried not to think about it, tried to keep myself busy, focused on my work, on my dance. But even when I was surrounded by people, it felt like I was invisible.
I glanced at my phone again. Still no reply from Russel.
It wasn’t that I didn’t understand. He was busy. He had his own career, his own dreams to chase. I knew that. He didn’t have the time to sit on his phone texting me back every minute. He wasn’t supposed to. But still… a part of me couldn’t help but feel forgotten.
I picked up the phone and unlocked it, scrolling through the messages. The last one from him was hours ago, a brief, impersonal reply to something I had said earlier: Sorry, I’ve been busy. I’ll call you tomorrow. Tomorrow. It was always tomorrow. He’d say he’d call tomorrow, but when tomorrow came, he was just as busy as before. The phone calls were never as long as I wanted them to be. The conversations never seemed to go deeper than surface-level pleasantries.
It hurt, but I told myself it was fine. He was busy. I didn’t need him all the time. I didn’t want to be needy or clingy. I was independent, strong. I had my own life, my own career, my own identity. I didn’t need him to fill the emptiness inside me.
But as I stared at the message, the weight of it all crashed down on me. I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I wiped them away quickly, not wanting to give in. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t pathetic. I had to keep it together.
But the loneliness was always there. It was always lurking, just beneath the surface, waiting to swallow me whole.
I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. I wasn’t asking for much. Just a little attention. Just someone to be there, to check in and say, Hey, I’m thinking about you. Was that too much to ask?
I felt the familiar sting of tears creeping up on me again. I didn’t want to cry. I couldn’t. Russel didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have time for me. And I didn’t want to bother him with how I was feeling. I didn’t want to add to his stress. I wanted him to be happy, to focus on his work. That was what mattered, right?
But the more I tried to tell myself that, the more the weight of everything pressed down on me. I wasn’t fine. I wasn’t okay.
I took another spoonful of ice cream and forced myself to focus on the movie again, but it was pointless. Nothing could distract me from how empty I felt. Nothing could erase the ache in my chest.
I looked at the phone again. Tomorrow. How many times had I heard that? How many times had I convinced myself that it was enough?
Maybe it had never been enough. Maybe it never would be.
I wiped my eyes, trying to push the tears back, but they kept coming. The sobs started quietly at first, then louder, until they shook my whole body. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. It felt like everything was spilling out at once, everything I had been holding back for so long.
I didn't know how to fix this. I didn’t know how to make the loneliness go away.
I glanced at the clock. It was past midnight. Russel would probably be asleep by now, or caught up in something else.
The thought of him not being here, of him not even knowing what I was going through, only made the ache worse. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the tears, but the pain wouldn't go away.
My phone buzzed suddenly, and my heart skipped a beat. I grabbed it quickly, hoping it was him, hoping for something. But when I looked at the screen, I saw a message from a friend, asking if I was okay. Just a check-in, nothing more. The kind of message that was meant to be nice, but it only reminded me how much I was struggling.
I smiled bitterly, replying with a simple, I’m fine. But I wasn’t.
I was far from fine.
I set the phone back down, feeling the emptiness settle in my chest again. This was my life now, wasn’t it? A cycle of loneliness, of pretending everything was okay, of trying to fill the gaps with ice cream, with distractions, with work. But nothing ever really helped. Nothing ever really filled the space inside me.
I wasn’t okay. I was tired of pretending that I was.
The movie played on, but it felt distant now, like everything around me was fading away. I glanced at the clock again, but I didn't expect any miracles. Tomorrow would be the same. Russel would be busy. The loneliness would still be there, waiting for me when I woke up.
I tried to push it all down, to tell myself that it would be better eventually, that things would get easier. But tonight, in the silence of my dark apartment, I couldn’t convince myself.
The next day, I went through the motions.
I had to. I had no choice.
I put on my leotard, tied my ballet slippers, and made my way to the studio. The familiar scent of the polished wood floor, the sound of feet moving, and the hum of the other dancers filled the space. It was comforting in a way, like stepping into a world where I could lose myself, where I could drown out the loneliness for a few hours.
Today was no different. I practiced for my role in Black Swan—my grand performance. The role I had worked so hard for. But even the exhilaration of movement, of my body flowing and soaring in ways I could only dream of as a child, didn’t quite fill the emptiness inside me. Every leap, every pirouette, every graceful move seemed to have a shadow following it. A shadow that I couldn’t shake.
I was dancing with everything I had, pushing myself to reach the peak of my potential, but I couldn’t stop the nagging feeling that something was missing.
Russel.
He should have been here. Or at least, his presence should have been felt in my life. But it wasn’t. I didn’t talk to him anymore—not really. Not in the way I wanted to. He was too busy with his career, too busy with his life to bother with someone like me. Not that I could blame him. He had his own path to follow, his own dreams to chase. I had mine, too. But the truth was, the loneliness was creeping in, just like it always did.
As I finished the last set of moves, sweat dripping down my face, I forced myself to focus. I had to keep going. There was no room for weakness. There was no room for feeling sorry for myself. I had a show to prepare for. I had a reputation to uphold. The city depended on me.
But when the studio lights dimmed and the other dancers started to pack up, I couldn’t stop the sadness from creeping back in. I grabbed my bag, changed out of my leotard, and headed out of the studio. The streets outside were bustling, people rushing to their next destination, lost in their own worlds. I watched them pass, feeling like an outsider in a sea of people who were too busy to notice.
I got home later that evening, too tired to think. But the tiredness didn't stop the ache inside me.
The apartment felt even emptier now. The silence greeted me, as it always did, and I put my bag down on the floor, my legs giving way as I collapsed onto the couch.
Nothing had changed.
I reached for my phone automatically, as I always did when I felt this wave of sadness hit. A part of me wanted to reach out to Russel, to tell him how I was feeling, to see if maybe he’d offer some words of comfort. But I knew he wouldn’t. He was probably busy again. So, instead, I stared at my phone, waiting for something that never came.
I told myself I didn’t need him. I didn’t need anyone. I had built a life for myself here, in this apartment, in this city. I had my career, my dancing, my art. But the reality of it all was sinking in, slowly but surely.
There was no one here to share it with. No one to celebrate my successes with. No one to help me through the nights when I felt like I was suffocating in this silence.
The silence had become my only companion.
I lay back on the couch, my eyes drifting shut. But the sadness didn’t let me sleep easily. I tossed and turned, my thoughts spinning, the loneliness filling the cracks in my heart that I had worked so hard to keep hidden.
I tried to tell myself it was okay, that I was fine. I was a professional. I was strong. But it was harder and harder to believe it as the days went on.
I eventually drifted off to sleep, my tears slipping onto the pillow without my permission. I didn’t want to cry, but sometimes, the weight of everything just became too much.
And so, once again, I slept with the ache in my heart.
I was lonely. So incredibly lonely. And it felt like the world had moved on, leaving me behind in a small, empty apartment in the heart of the city.
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