(Flashback – My Bipolar Disorder and My Anger)
Iris
Sometimes, I get angry easily. And when I do, it’s like I become a different person—someone I don’t recognize. Someone I hate.
The worst part? I don’t always know why.
The smallest things can set me off. A misplaced word. A wrong look. Even silence. And once the anger starts, it’s hard to stop. It burns through me like wildfire, leaving destruction in its wake.
Flashback
Christian and I were at a café. It was supposed to be a normal day, just the two of us. He was telling me about something—his classes, his plans for the weekend—but I wasn’t listening.
I was already irritated.
I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way the café was too loud, or how the barista got my order wrong. Maybe it was nothing at all.
But I felt it—this growing tension in my chest, like a balloon about to burst.
Then Christian said something—I don’t even remember what—and I snapped.
“Can you just shut up for a second?” I blurted out.
His eyes widened in surprise. “Iris, what—”
“God, you talk so much! Do you ever stop?” My voice was louder than I intended, sharp like a knife.
People turned to look.
Christian stared at me, hurt flashing across his face. “Where is this coming from?”
I huffed, crossing my arms. “I don’t know. I just—” I let out a frustrated sigh, running my fingers through my hair. “I just feel so angry!”
His expression softened. “Did something happen?”
“No! And that’s the problem! I don’t know why I feel like this! I just do!”
I expected him to fight back, to yell at me for ruining our day. Instead, he just watched me, his shoulders slumping.
“Iris,” he said quietly, “I think you should talk to your doctor about this.”
That made me snap even more.
“Wow. So now I’m crazy, right? That’s what you think?”
“I didn’t say that,” he said carefully. “But… maybe your meds need adjusting?”
I scoffed. “You always do this. You always act like I’m some problem you need to fix.”
Christian looked down, his fingers tapping against the table. “I just want to help.”
“Well, you’re not!” I pushed my chair back and grabbed my bag. “I need to go.”
“Iris, wait—”
But I was already walking out.
End of Flashback
Later that night, after I had calmed down, the guilt came. It always did.
I texted him:
Me: I’m sorry.
A few minutes passed before he replied.
Christian: It’s okay. I know it’s not your fault.
But it was.
And it still is.
That’s why I can’t let Eli get too close. Because what if, one day, I snap at him too?
What if I push him away like I did with Christian?
What if he finally decides that loving me… just isn’t worth it?
(Eli’s POV – Continuation)
I don’t know what’s going on with Iris.
She’s been different lately—more distant, more guarded. At first, I thought she was just busy with her art. That happens sometimes. She gets lost in her paintings, shutting out the world until she’s satisfied.
But this time… it feels different.
She barely responds to my messages. When we’re together, she avoids eye contact. It’s like she’s building walls between us, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t break through.
I don’t know if I did something wrong.
But I do know one thing—I hate seeing her like this.
Flashback – A Few Days Ago
Iris was sitting by the window of a small coffee shop, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of her cup. She looked tired. Not just physically—there was something else, something heavier.
I sat across from her, watching her carefully. “Are you okay?”
She gave me a small smile. It wasn’t real. “Yeah. Just tired.”
Liar.
I leaned forward. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Her hand twitched slightly before she pulled it away from her cup. “No, I haven’t.”
I sighed. “Iris.”
She looked away, biting her lip. “Eli, it’s nothing. You’re overthinking.”
Maybe. But my gut told me otherwise.
Before I could say anything else, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her face paling slightly, and then quickly turned it over so I couldn’t see the screen.
I frowned. “Who was that?”
“No one.”
Another lie.
I clenched my jaw, trying to push down the frustration building inside me. “You can talk to me, you know.”
She finally met my gaze, and for a second, I saw something in her eyes—fear, hesitation. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
“I know,” she said softly.
But she didn’t.
Because if she did, she wouldn’t be shutting me out like this.
Present Day
Now, as I stare at my phone, waiting for a reply to the message I sent hours ago, I know something for sure—
Iris is hiding something from me.
And I’m going to find out what it is.
(Eli’s POV)
Right now, I’ve already admitted my feelings for her.
But I don’t know if that was the right thing to do.
I told Iris I like her, but she didn’t say it back. She didn’t reject me, but she didn’t accept it either. Instead, she’s been avoiding me more, like my feelings made things harder for her.
Like I made things harder for her.
I don’t regret telling her. She deserved to know. But now I’m stuck in this limbo, waiting for her to decide whether she wants to let me in or push me away for good.
And I don’t know how much longer I can wait.
Flashback – The Night I Confessed
“Iris.” My voice was steady, but my heart was pounding. “Look, I… I like you. A lot.”
She froze. Her eyes widened just slightly before she turned away.
Silence.
I exhaled slowly, watching her. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I needed you to know.”
Still, nothing.
After a long moment, she forced a small laugh—one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Eli, I—” She shook her head, pressing her lips together. “You shouldn’t like me.”
My chest tightened. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not—” She stopped herself, clenching her fists. “I’m not someone you should love.”
I frowned. “You don’t get to decide that.”
She finally looked at me, and in her eyes, I saw something raw and painful. “Eli… I’ll only hurt you.”
I took a step closer, my hands itching to reach for hers, but I held back. “Iris, I’m not afraid of that.”
“You should be,” she whispered.
And that was the last thing she said before she left.
Present Day
I let out a frustrated sigh, staring at the ceiling. It’s been days since then, and nothing’s changed. She’s still keeping me at a distance.
I don’t know what to do.
Should I wait? Should I push her? Should I let her go?
No. Letting go isn’t an option.
Because even if she won’t say it… I know she feels something for me too.
I really like her.
Not just now. Not just because we’ve grown close.
I liked her since the first time I met her in that coffee shop.
I remember it clearly—how she sat by the window, completely lost in her own world, sketching in a worn-out notebook like nothing else mattered. She wasn’t trying to be seen. She wasn’t trying to stand out. But she did.
Something about her pulled me in.
Maybe it was the way she held her pencil so delicately, yet every stroke was bold, certain. Maybe it was the way her brows furrowed slightly in concentration, like she was carrying the weight of something no one else could see.
Or maybe it was her eyes.
They weren’t just brown. They had depth, like an ocean that could either drown you or pull you in so deep you’d never want to leave.
I don’t know why, but I wanted to sketch her.
I run my fingers through my hair, exhaling.
She’s still avoiding me. And it hurts.
But no matter how much she pushes me away, I can’t forget the way I felt that day.
I liked her then. I like her now.
And I’m not going anywhere.