Adjusting
The weeks had blurred into each other since that night. Time didn’t seem to move with the usual rhythm. It was like the world was slow, dragging, suspended between each breath she took. The trauma Stella had endured still lingered in the corners of her mind, tucked away beneath the surface, but it was quieter now — less suffocating, more manageable. At least on the surface.
But it wasn’t easy. Not by a long shot.
Some days, it was as if the past rushed back in, pounding at her chest with the weight of memories she couldn’t escape. Those were the worst days. Days where she felt like she was drowning all over again, helpless, suffocated by the relentless tidal wave of flashbacks, sounds, and faces. The nights were especially brutal. She’d lay awake, trapped in the darkness, a prisoner to her thoughts. Dreams still haunted her, sharp, jagged things that tore at the edges of her sanity. Sometimes they’d wake her in cold sweats, heart racing, fingers trembling as she reached out for the comforting flicker of light. She’d fumble for the lamp, as if the mere presence of light could banish the ghosts of her mind.
But she wasn’t alone.
Not anymore.
Her girls were always there.
When the nightmares took hold, when the cold sweat dampened her brow and her breaths turned to shallow gasps, they were there. They didn’t push her to talk about what she was feeling, didn’t force her to face it head-on. They just pulled her into their embrace, wrapped her in their warmth, offering her comfort in the form of touch and words, no matter how small or quiet. Sometimes it was Musa’s soft hum in her ear, or Flora’s gentle hand on her arm. Sometimes it was Aisha’s steady voice telling her that she was safe, Tecna’s logical but somehow grounding reassurances, or Bloom’s protective presence.
They gave her space when she needed it, but never once did they let her slip too far into the dark. They wouldn’t let her drown. They were the lifeline she clung to, her tether to something real.
She was healing, but the road was long. The pain wasn’t gone — not even close — but the love and support that surrounded her made it bearable, even when everything inside her screamed that it shouldn’t be. The cracks in her mind had never fully healed, not yet. She was still piecing herself together, bit by bit. There were moments, real moments, when she felt like herself again. When the pieces clicked back into place and for a second, she could almost convince herself that the darkness wasn’t there. But those moments were fragile — fleeting.
Today, though, it was a good day.
The sun streamed through the large windows of their shared dorm room, casting a warm, almost peaceful glow over the space. The light danced over the wooden floor, almost mocking in its calm. Stella sat on the couch, her legs tucked underneath her, flipping through one of her old star charts. She didn’t know why she still had them. Maybe it was the connection to something she used to be. Stars used to be her anchor in the darkest of times, the only things she could count on to remain constant. But now they felt. . .distant. Faded. A part of a routine that no longer consumed her. Maybe she was finally letting go.
But the weight of it all was still there, pressing down on her chest in the most subtle ways. She didn’t know why she kept looking at them. Was it to remember? To make sense of the chaos she couldn’t control? Or was it a quiet rebellion — holding on to something that was hers and hers alone, even if it only served as a reminder of what had been lost?
Musa was sitting next to her, flipping through a book of her own, but her hand was absentmindedly tracing the lines of Stella’s arm. It was a quiet moment, almost painfully so. Musa’s soft touch was a constant in Stella’s life, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone. Musa could feel the slight tension in Stella’s body, even though Stella had learned to mask her feelings better these days. But Musa knew her too well. She always knew.
“Everything okay?” Musa’s voice was a soft hum, an open question wrapped in concern.
Stella looked up from her chart, her gaze softening when she met Musa’s eyes. She wasn’t used to being seen. To being understood so completely. But with Musa, she didn’t have to hide. Even if it felt like the cracks in her heart were wider than ever.
“Yeah,” Stella said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just. . .sometimes, I still feel it, you know? Like I’m not really here.”
The words hung in the air between them, brittle and raw. It was as if Stella was confessing something she hadn’t yet admitted to herself. That deep, bone-deep feeling of being lost, of not belonging to her own skin. Musa didn’t need to say anything more. She knew. They all did.
“I’m right here,” Musa said, her voice firm but gentle, like a vow. “You're not alone in this.”
Stella gave a small, quiet smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers curled around Musa’s hand, their connection silent but significant. They didn’t need words to communicate how much they cared for each other. They’d always been like this, but now. . .it was different. There was something deeper now, something more grounding. A kind of weight that neither of them could quite escape.
Flora entered the room then, her usual calm presence slipping in like a quiet breath. She knew when to intervene, when to speak and when to remain silent. She could feel the subtle weight of Stella’s emotions, the unspoken things, even when the others couldn’t see them.
“I thought you’d be more interested in reading that new magical journal,” Flora said lightly, her voice as warm as the sunlight spilling through the windows. “Is the star chart more exciting today?”
Stella laughed softly, shaking her head. It wasn’t a full laugh — not the kind of laughter that would have filled the room with light before. But it was enough. Just enough to remind her that, maybe, she wasn’t broken beyond repair.
“I just wanted to find a pattern in the stars,” she said quietly, her voice thoughtful, almost lost. “Something that makes sense of everything.”
Flora sat down next to her, offering that small, understanding smile that had always been her way. “Sometimes, there are patterns even in the chaos. Just like you, Stella.”
Stella’s breath caught in her chest at the words, as though Flora had somehow seen through the walls she’d carefully constructed. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to truly hear what Flora was saying. Maybe she was like the stars — complicated, chaotic, brilliant, and beautiful, but still so deeply, imperfectly human.
“Thanks,” Stella whispered, her voice barely a breath, a soft crack in the silence. “I. . .I don’t know what I’d do without all of you.”
Her words felt fragile — too fragile to hold up against the weight of her own emotions. She didn’t know what she would do without them, either. She didn’t know how she could keep going when the world felt like it was slipping through her fingers.
Just then, Aisha and Tecna entered the room, their voices light and easy, their laughter weaving through the heavy silence. The sight of them, strong and together, pulled at something deep in Stella’s chest. The weight in her heart shifted — if only slightly.
"Are we all still on for lunch?" Aisha asked, leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed but her smile warm.
Stella stood up, brushing herself off. There was a moment — a brief second — where she didn’t feel so out of place. Where her smile, though small, didn’t feel so forced. “I think I could eat,” she said, her voice carrying just the faintest trace of her old sass, though it wasn’t nearly as biting as it used to be.
The others exchanged glances, each of them visibly relieved to see Stella’s progress, no matter how small. They knew the road was long. They knew there were still cracks in her heart that would never fully heal. But they also knew that it wasn’t about reaching some final destination. It was about walking the journey together.
As the group made their way out the door, Stella walked in the middle, her pace steady, the weight of her emotions lighter than before. There were still days when the darkness threatened to swallow her whole, days when the cracks in her soul would widen and threaten to break her apart. But she had them. And that made all the difference.
She was healing. Slowly, but she was healing.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, that thought didn’t feel so impossible.