*TW: Panicking , overthinking, SS thought.

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Spiraling was what Mirah did best.

Her mind had this gift—this curse—of spinning out endless scenarios. Things that would never happen. Things that couldn’t. But in her world, where everything already had, anything felt possible.

Her head throbbed from the weight of it all—thoughts, monstrous and mean, piling on without mercy.

She _was_ failing.

She _always_ failed.

She would never be the best. Would never reach her potential.

Because she was always the bare minimum. Never the maximum.

Her throat tightened. Her hands flew up and wrapped around her neck—a poor attempt at grounding. She sat on her bed, knees to chest, trembling in the dark. Everyone else was asleep—her parents downstairs, her brothers snoring faintly through the walls.

And yet here she was.

_ Stuck_.

_ Here_.

She thought about it sometimes. Ending it.

Not because she would.

But because she wanted the pain to pause—just for a second.

But she couldn’t. She knew she wouldn’t. Because no matter how not-enough she felt, someone still needed her.

Who would help raise her brothers?

Who would tell her parents to stop fighting?

Who else would hold the pieces together if she let go?

Ever since she left him, she didn’t know how to be anymore. Not fully. Not without effort. Not without faking it.

She wasn’t a person. She was a machine.

And for once—just once—Mirah wanted to be a normal girl again.

But she didn’t know how… not without him.

_ Donovan_.

She’d left him for a reason. She didn’t need him. She was independent. She was strong. She was—

But one call wouldn’t hurt… right?

Mirah bit down on the inside of her cheek, hard, releasing her grip on her throat. Her breath came in shallow waves. Her eyes searched the room, wild and desperate, until she found her phone—facedown on the nightstand, glowing faintly in the dark.

She crawled across the bed. Reached for it. Tapped the screen.

Lit up.

Then she turned it off.

This was _stupid_.

She left him.

She couldn’t do this.

She shouldn’t do this.

But she was breaking. Spiraling. Rupturing.

And it didn’t matter what Donovan wanted anymore. She needed this. Needed him. Just this once.

Besides, he once said, “_You can call me anytime, Mir. I’m only one call away._”

That was before he hated her.

Before she tore it all apart.

Her thumb hovered over the screen. She typed in her password, hands shaking. Unblocked his number. Pressed call.

One second.

Another.

_Voicemail_.

She tried again. Her vision swam. A single tear slipped from her cheek and splashed on the cracked screen.

Beep.

“_Please leave a voice message at…_”

“C’mon,” she whispered, voice cracking. Then, deep breath. “Hey… Donnie. It’s Mirah.” The phone trembled in her hands. “I—I just… I need someone to talk to. Call me when you can.”

She hung up and tossed the phone onto the dresser like it had burned her. Her heart pounded. Her whole body shook. It should’ve helped—leaving the voicemail.

But it didn’t.

It made her feel emptier. Worse. Like something had opened up inside her and swallowed her whole.

This wasn’t like before.

This panic wasn’t something she could workout away or wash down with water.

This time was different.

This time she was a mess—tears falling fast, lips trembling, hair frizzy from the frantic way she’d pulled at it.

She closed her eyes. Forced her breathing. Just like her therapist said.

In for five. Out for five.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In—

_ Tap_.

Her eyes flew open. She froze.

Another tap.

Slowly, she got up, socks sliding as she approached the window. Probably a bird. A cursed one. She always suspected they worked for the government.

But when she pulled back the curtains—

She gasped.

A figure. Clinging to the tree outside. Soaked from head to toe. Arm raised to tap again.

She wrenched the window open, heart ricocheting in her throat.

_ Donovan_.

Raindrops ran down his charcoal hair. His hoodie was drenched. Sweatpants clung to his legs. And those eyes—emerald green, locked on her face like she was the only thing that mattered. He crawled inside, water dripping from his frame.

“Donovan?” Her voice cracked as she wiped her face. Her heart lurched like it wanted to throw itself into his arms. “You’re… here.”

He nodded, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the tangled mess of sheets on her bed.

“I am.”

“You came,” she whispered, her voice smaller than she expected.

“You _called_.” He stepped forward. His arms opened, and she didn’t think—she just collapsed into him. The soaked hoodie clung to her skin as he wrapped her tight. Held her like he remembered how she liked to be held.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

And that was all it took.

She broke.

Sobs tore out of her chest like thunder.

She gripped the front of his hoodie like it might keep her from falling apart entirely. Cried so hard it made her throat raw, her ribs ache.

“Oh… Mirah…” Donovan pulled back just enough to cup her chin. “Honey, tell me what it is.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek. Pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—muscle memory, like his body remembered what her soul needed. Everything about this was familiar. But it felt far away too—like she was watching someone else live it.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore,” she whispered. “I can’t keep meeting everyone’s expectations, Donnie.” More tears. Hot. Relentless. “I just… can’t.”

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, tilting her face to meet his. “Look at me.”

His gaze anchored her. Like she was a ship about to sink, and he was the anchor holding her steady.

“You don’t have to meet anyone’s expectations, alright? No one said you had to. You don’t owe anyone that. You do it for you. Only _you_.”

He took her hand and gently led her to the bed. When she sat, he knelt in front of her, eye-level.

“You’re enough. You’re enough. _You’re_ _enough_,” he said it again and again. “And I’ll say it a thousand more times if that’s what it takes.”

She nodded slowly, blinking through tears, drowning in his eyes. “Why?” she asked, voice barely audible. “Why are you here?”

He smiled—soft and fleeting. But it was there. “You called. That’s why. You said you needed someone to talk to, right?”

“Yeah… but you didn’t have to come.”

Donovan swallowed, throat bobbing. His hands were shaking too. “Is it so hard to believe, Mirah… that I still love you?”

She flinched. “But… you hate me.”

“I could _never_ hate you.”

“But I left,” Mirah quipped.

“I know. And I hated that. I hated not knowing why. I hated thinking I wasn’t enough for you. But I never hated _you_.” Donovan explained, gaze never wavering.

Mirah shook her head, not understanding. “No. No, I left you. You should hate me.”

He caught her face again. Steadied her.

“Mir. I’m here for one reason.” He paused, breath hitching. “I. _Love_. You.”

She was crying again. But not out of pain this time. Out of disbelief. Out of relief.Her tears weren’t because she wasn’t enough—But because he thought she was.

“You love me?” Her voice trembled.

“I love you so much it makes me dizzy. I think about you constantly. It’s not just love—it’s _everything_. It’s _devotion_. It’s _obsession_. I’m ruined for anyone else. It’s always been you.”

She stared at him like he was a miracle. Maybe he was.

“I never thought you weren’t enough,” she whispered. “I left because… I thought I wasn’t.”

“But you are. You’ve always been.” He inched closer, hand tracing gentle circles on her thigh. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

Their noses touched. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ve only ever wanted you,” she whispered back. Her first real smile that day broke through. “I still can’t believe you came.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling. “All you ever had to do was call. I was always waiting. I was always only—”

“—One call away?” she finished, forehead pressing against his.

He smelled like rain and that weird rose perfume he liked too much. “Yeah,” he breathed, “one call away.”

And that night became a blur of whispered apologies and stitched hearts.

Because Mirah didn’t need to be enough for the world.

She only needed to be enough for herself.

And in Donovan’s eyes, she already was.

_ She always had been._

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