Breaking was one thing. Healing was another.
Akutu had spent the past week avoiding the world. She skipped the writing group, spoke less in class, and even Jenny had stopped nagging her about it—probably sensing that she needed space.
But healing wasn't about disappearing. It was about learning how to move forward without breaking again.
And that was the hard part.
One evening, Kweku found her sitting by the old fountain near the library, her notebook open but untouched.
"You haven't been writing," he said.
Akutu didn't look up. "I don't feel like it."
Kweku sat beside her. "That's not like you."
She sighed. "I'm just… tired."
Silence stretched between them. Then Kweku said, "Do you know what I do when I feel lost?"
Akutu glanced at him. "What?"
"I go back to the beginning," he said. "I remind myself why I started in the first place."
She thought about that. When had writing become a burden instead of an escape? When had school become something to survive rather than something to learn from?
Maybe she had been approaching everything the wrong way.
The next morning, she did something she hadn't done in weeks—she took a break.
She went to class, but instead of stressing over notes, she listened. She walked around campus without thinking about deadlines. She even sat with Jenny in the cafeteria without checking the time.
It felt strange, but it also felt… good.
That night, she picked up her notebook again. Not because she had to. But because she wanted to.
She wrote:
"Healing isn't about forgetting the pain. It's about learning how to carry it differently."
She smiled. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.