The alarm schreeched for the third time before she moved. Not because she hadn’t heard it, but because pulling herself out of the comfort of her cold bed felt like walking through wet cement. The room was dim, despite the curtains being slightly opened. The pale morning light flattened everything into a dull shade of gray. A half-drunk glass of water say by on her nightstand, dusty and warm with neglect, and clothes lay crumpled on the blue chair where they had been abandoned nights ago.

She rose slowly, each step towards the bathroom deliberate, cautious as if she were fragile. Her heart beat rang in her ears, a haunting tune, a reminder of existence. In the mirror, her hair was a tangle, her skin shallow with sleep or the lack thereof, her eyes ringed in a shadow she had no recollection of earning. She brushed her teeth mindlessly, not tasting the mint, washed her face, detached from the action itself. When it was time to put on clothes she grabbed whatever was closet- an outfit not particularly chosen, merely just tolerated.

By the time she sat on the bed to tie her shoes, it felt as if she had already lived a full day. A heaviness in her chest pressed harder at the thought that she hadn’t even stepped outside yet. She glanced at her phone, another text from her mother. “Don’t forget about the dinner tonight, your sister has good news!” Her chest tightened further. She didn’t need to guess. She knew. The hours dragged by. She tried to read the words, but they slipped from each page, she tried to nap, but her brain buzzed with that perculiar restlessness that didn’t want to do anything, yet couldn’t sit still. At four, she forced herself into the shower. The hot water slid over her skin, she held her face under it for a while, she didn’t even realize she was crying. Her mind had became accustomed to that, to her unauthorized tears. She washed her hair, though lifting her arms made them ache. She gave up blow drying it halfway through, the damp strands fell down her back.

When it was time to leave, she put on her coat and stood in the hallway, staring at the door like it was a mountain to climb, it was an obstacle. She felt the familiar lump in her throat form and she swallowed it down painfully as she made her way to that mountain of a door. Her hand hovered over the cold knob for a while before she twisted it and stepped out into the cold air.

The front door was already opened when she arrived, warm laughter drippled out into the crisp air. The laughter a tease, a chilling testimony to the fact that she hadn’t laughed it what felt like years, but may have been months, but was probably only weeks. She stepped inside, the smell of roasted chicken and garlic hit her nose immediately. It made her sick, it reminded her that she hasn’t eaten today. Her mother bustled into the kitchen, her father set the table, her sister radiant in a soft yellow dress greeted her with a hug that was too tight for comfort. “You’re here! I wasn’t sure you’d make it in time, her sister said, her smile effortless. “I made it,” she answered, her voice flat against her will.

Dinner began, plates got passed around, forks clinked, the conversation flowed around her like a current she wasn’t swimming in, but she was drowning. She nodded when when spoken to, gave polite answered, pushed her food around and chugged her wine. Finally her sister stood, she linked fingers with her boyfriend and her warm smile took up her whole face. “We have something to announce.” The sparkle of the ring caught the light and threw a shard of brilliance across the dining room table. “We’re engaged.”

Cheers erupted, tears were shed. Everyone rose, moving into a tangle of embrace. She stayed seated for a while, willing herself to stand as the noise around her faded into a dull echo. She forced herself to stand, to step forward and hug her sister. “I’m happy for you.” She meant it. She did. But as the room filled with laughter and talk of wedding plans, she sank smaller and smaller into herself. She was swallowed by the quiet knowledge that she couldn’t imagine a future for herself, let alone a celebration of it.

That night, when she returned home, she slipped out of her coat, collapsed onto her bed without bothering to undress, and she lay in the same position that she woken up in that morning. The ceiling hadn’t changed, the glass of water hadn’t changed, the clothes in the blue chair hadn’t changed. Neither had she. The world outside of her was moving forward- rings exchanged, futures built, lives were being celebrated- but here in this small, dim room, time stood still.