emotion, a complex experience of consciousness, bodily sensation, and behavior that reflects the personal significance of a thing, an event, or a state of affairs.

We, humans, express uncommon emotion in the same situation. We feel happy one day and sad the other day. emotions changes with time even we can't get excited for the same reason we already did

But in my last few months, I felt none of emotion but anxiety. Anxiety about my past, his memories. Even though I escaped from this toxic relationship, his memories still haunt me day and night. It took me completely six months to recover from my past. It’s like doing everything you can, day in and day out, just to have the chance to take a positive step in the right direction.

It took my years of savings to settle in London with my leftover savings; I rent a 1bhk apartment which is nearby the coffee shop I work part-time which is enough for my postgraduate and my necessities.

In the beginning, I struggled to settle here first, but with the help of Cyrus, I managed. He even offered me to work on the cafe he owns, I gladly accepted. When I was in deep thought a soft voice interrupts, “Celine~ dear, did you get the custard bun I made especially for you? " asked Hannah, "yes Hannah I got it it is delicious wanna try some more" I replied. "of course dear, next time I'll let you know take care " with that she left the cafe

After the last customer left the cafe, I emptied the trash and prepared to leave the cafe that's when Cyrus called me "yes, Cyrus?" I asked, "um... I have heard in the news that some serial killer escaped. So... shall I drop you home? " he asked me with hesitation.

I know he likes me, but I don't want any relationships, at least not now. "no thanks ill be fine on my own and I have some work to do on my way back " his face fell, but he quickly covers it with a smile " Better be careful on your way "I nodded left the cafe.

Cyrus is such a sweet, kindest person I ever met. If I had met Cyrus before him, we would have already become a couple. I have not over the past yet. Plus, I don't want to give Cyrus some false hopes.

After a long day, I went to my apartment only to find the opposite apartment door is slightly open which is no vacancy for 2 weeks. This reminds me of Cyrus' sayings. What if there is a serial killer hidden in the apartment? No, it shouldn't because he should be smart enough to know that someone will report if there is a movement in a no vacancy apartment. what if it is a thief? If it is, he is the dump enough to steal in an empty apartment.

It's better to check whatever it is than imagining things " okay Celine, you can do it! " I said to myself with that I took a deep breath and slowly open the door widely and enter the apartment.

Pitch dark, that's what I can see, did I Say I once had nyctophobia but I overcome that when I faced the worst nightmare, him. He was worse than the nightmares. The mere thought of him runs shivers through my body. Calming myself, I carefully looked around the apartment with my mobile's flash.

When I entered the living room, I can see some packages are left unopened, which confused me. Did any vacant come to this apartment? But Hannah didn't inform me about this maybe she would've forgotten. With the thought, I turned to leave but stopped when I saw the picture of me.

I stared at the photo in confusion and shock when I hear his bitter voice

I was half French and half Indian (from Kerala).

Because of that, I got bullied most of the time.

I was born in Kerala and raised by my mother.

When I was 4, she passed away due to cancer. After that, my dad took me to France, where he lived with his wife and two children.

I struggled to adapt—to the language, the culture, and the people.

My stepmom was a kind lady, unlike her mother and her children.

They didn’t like me from the beginning, but that didn’t bother me much. I was already busy being bullied at school.

By the time I was 5, I had started to adapt.

It was in senior kindergarten that I met him.

His green eyes caught my attention first—those deep, forest-green eyes reminded me of my native land.

Since I continued in the same school, most of the kids who used to bully me were still around.

To avoid more bullying, I came up with a brilliant idea: befriend the new kids.

More friends meant more support—less chance of being bullied.

I executed the plan with a big, cute smile and walked toward my first target: him.

As a child, he made a perfect poker face. His expression clearly said, “Stay away.”

And I did.

I'm a smart kid, you know. But my bullies weren’t as smart. They walked right up to him and started picking on him.

“Come on, guys, don’t you have anything better to do? Such a boring hobby.”

Not that I could actually say it out loud.

Poor boy… he had to face all of that, just like I did.I was worried about what they were going to do to him.

Then, for a brief moment, he tilted his head and looked straight into my eyes.

Just then, our ex-homeroom teacher appeared.The moment they saw her, they scattered and ran away.

The moment they saw her, they scattered and ran away.

She was going to be our homeroom teacher this year as well.

A wave of relief washed over me. She was one of the few adults who actually noticed things—not just homework and attendance, but bruises hidden under sleeves and the silence of kids who once laughed too much.

She walked over and gave me a brief glance, then turned to him.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t respond. Just nodded slightly, eyes still locked on the ground.

She didn’t push further. Just placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and walked us both back to class.

We didn’t talk, not even a word, but something had shifted in that moment.

For the first time, I didn’t feel invisible.

And I had a feeling… he didn’t either.

Days passed. We didn’t become instant friends, but he stopped glaring at me like I was a stranger.

Sometimes he’d sit beside me during lunch, quietly.

Other times he’d wait for me before class, saying nothing, just standing there—like a silent shield.

Eventually, we began to talk. It started with short exchanges about crayons and cartoons, then books and birthdays.

By the time we reached primary school, we were inseparable.

He wasn’t the friendliest person, but with me, he was different—softer, even protective.

He stood up for me when others didn’t. And in return, I gave him the space to be himself.

But time has a way of changing people.

And middle school... has a way of showing you who they really are.

It started small. He’d laugh when others teased me, brushing it off like it meant nothing.

Then he stopped sitting with me during lunch.

Eventually, he joined the very group that once bullied both of us.

I remember the first time he called me a name—the same name those bullies used to hurl at me.

It didn’t even sound right coming from him.

But the laughter around him made it stick.

And just like that… my friend became my worst kind of bully—the one who knew all the soft spots.

I thought I’d get used to it.

I told myself it was just a phase. That maybe he was pretending. That maybe he still remembered.

But as time passed, it only hurt more.

It wasn’t just the teasing anymore—it was the way he looked right through me, like I never existed, like I had never mattered.

The worst part? He knew exactly where to hit where it would hurt the most.

By the end of middle school, I was exhausted. Tired of pretending.

Tired of waking up with a pit in my stomach.

So, I gathered the courage and asked my dad if I could continue my education somewhere else.

Anywhere. Just not there. Not around him. Not around them.

He looked at me for a long time, longer than usual. Maybe he saw it in my eyes this time—the weight I’d been carrying for years.

He didn’t ask too many questions.

Just nodded.

And just like that… I left.