Page 190 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

Victor was not ‘the one.’

He was simply the one I loved the hardest.

And there was a difference.

I stood in front of the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, I actually recognized the person looking back at me.

The apartment glowed softly around me, warm light bouncing against the bed and half-open drawers I had torn through while getting ready. Music played quietly from the speaker below—something fun, something alive—and the city outside the floor-to-ceiling window shimmered in gold and white beneath the night sky.

I adjusted the sleeves of my black button-down and stared at myself for another second.

I look good!

I looked good in a way that felt earned. The kind of good that comes after surviving something that almost destroyed you.

My hair finally sat properly again. The dark circles beneath my eyes had softened. My body no longer looked hollowed out by grief. There was color in my face again.

There was life in it.

And the strangest part was that I actually wanted to go outside.

Days ago, the thought alone would’ve terrified me.

But earlier that evening, my phone lit up with messages from my friends, telling me that they were going out tonight.

I didn’t reply, because I wasn’t sure.

I just sat there staring at the messages for a while, realizing something: two weeks of hiding from the world suddenly felt too long.

I missed the noise, the laughter, being outside with people who loved me.

And honestly? After everything that had happened, being around my friends sounded less like socializing and more like breathing again.

Still, fear lingered beneath my ribs.

Because Southside still carried him.

What if I passed streets that remembered us?

What if the city still hurt?

What if I wasn’t as okay as I thought I was?

The thoughts stayed with me as I grabbed my phone and stepped out of my apartment.

The elevator ride down felt strangely cinematic:

Soft music humming overhead.

Numbers descending slowly.

My reflection staring back at me through the mirrored walls.

It felt like the universe itself was pausing to ask, ‘Are you ready?’

Then the elevator doors opened to the lobby.

I walked slowly across the marbled floor, my footsteps quieter than usual, until I reached the entrance doors.