CHAPTER 2

In the dimly lit confines of my rented room, I sought refuge from the tempest of emotions raging within me. With a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, I shut the door behind me, surrendering to the weight of despair that threatened to consume my very soul. The solitude offered no solace, only a relentless onslaught of memories and regrets that echoed in the hollow chambers of my mind.

I was acutely aware of the societal expectation that men should suppress their tears, burying their emotions beneath a facade of stoicism. Yet, in the confines of that small room, I found myself unable to contain the flood of anguish that surged within me. For every man harbors within him two personas – one that he presents to the world, and another that he conceals, shielded from prying eyes and judgmental gazes.

On that fateful day, as the weight of my grief threatened to crush me, I longed for the comforting embrace of my mother's lap or the stern guidance of my father's hand. But they were gone, lost to me in a tragic accident that had shattered the fragile fabric of our family. And so, with no shoulder to lean on and no voice to offer solace, I surrendered to the suffocating embrace of despair.

For hours, I wept in silent agony, each tear a testament to the pain that gnawed at my heart. And when exhaustion finally overtook me, I succumbed to unconsciousness, my body yielding to the relentless onslaught of despair.

When I awoke, disoriented and weary, the world outside my window had shifted, the light of day casting harsh shadows upon the walls of my room. It was time for college, yet I found myself unable to muster the strength to face the outside world. And so, with resignation weighing heavily upon me, I resigned myself to the confines of my solitude, retreating further into the depths of my despair.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. For on the seventh day of my self-imposed exile, a gentle knock echoed through the stillness of my room, rousing me from my despondency. With trembling hands and a heavy heart, I made my way to the door, uncertain of what lay beyond.

As I turned the handle and swung the door open, my breath caught in my throat, my heart stuttering in my chest. For standing before me, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light, was Olivia – a vision of ethereal beauty amidst the darkness that threatened to engulf me.

"Olivia? Why are you here?" I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her response was gentle, yet tinged with a sadness that mirrored my own. "Hey, is this how you welcome someone into your house?"

I struggled to find the words to reply, my tongue heavy with the weight of unspoken truths. But as I met her gaze, I saw in her eyes the same turmoil that raged within my own soul. The sparkle that had once danced in those azure depths had dimmed, replaced by a weariness that spoke volumes of the pain she too had endured.

And so, with a silent understanding that transcended words, we stood together in the threshold of that small room, two souls bound by the common thread of grief and loss. And in that moment, amidst the silence that enveloped us like a shroud, I knew that I was not alone – for in Olivia's presence, I found the solace and comfort that had eluded me in the darkest depths of my despair.