47

Levi's lips brushed mine softly at first, then with the kind of intensity that left me breathless, as if he was trying to tell me something words couldn't capture. His hands cupped my face, grounding me, but the tenderness in his touch only made the weight in my chest heavier.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer. "I'll see you tomorrow," he murmured, his voice low. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he added, "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night," I replied, barely above a whisper.

He stepped away, leaving my apartment and shutting the door behind him with a soft click. The silence that followed felt deafening.

I stood frozen for a moment, my thoughts spiraling in every direction. Levi's words and actions replayed in my mind on a loop, each one dredging up feelings I couldn't quite name.

With a sigh, I pushed myself toward my bedroom, peeling off my clothes and slipping into an oversized tee and pajama shorts. The fabric was soft, familiar, comforting in a way I desperately needed.

As I walked past the mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection and stopped.

There I was—hair slightly messy, face flushed from the rollercoaster of emotions, my eyes still bright with unshed tears. I stared at myself for a long moment, trying to make sense of the girl looking back at me.

Why couldn't I just be okay? Why couldn't I let go of the gnawing insecurity that seemed to grip me at every turn?

I ran a hand through my hair, shaking my head. "You're enough," I muttered under my breath, repeating Levi's words to myself. But they sounded hollow, like they belonged to someone else.

The truth was, I didn't feel like enough—not for him, not for the version of myself I wanted to be.

I leaned closer to the mirror, searching for something—anything—that might explain why I couldn't silence the doubts swirling inside me. My reflection offered no answers, just the same tired eyes staring back.

With a shaky breath, I straightened up. "Get it together, Cora," I whispered.

I splash some water on my face, hoping that it will somehow clear my thoughts and take this stinging headache away.

Water did help, but only so little that I could see the little droplets forming on my face. I wanted to touch them, see how they automatically diminish. But I resisted.

I closed the tap, staring at myself in the mirror in silence. I was tired, yes. The constant work, the handling of the relationships in all reality is hard.

Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Slowly my heart is picking its pace. The heaviness slowly creeps its way out.

I was starting to overthink again. I hated that I couldn't stop myself when it started. I am a person who has no thoughts, but when they arrive it's this vicious cycle that ends up making me restless and exhausted, even unworthy of happiness.

Overthinking feels like my brain won't stop spinning, even when I beg it to slow down. It starts with a tiny thought, something harmless, like wondering if I said the right thing. But then it grows, twisting and turning until I'm picking apart every word I said, like for example every look Levi gave me, Spencer not answering my call, Ethan not seeing my wave and every tiny detail I might have missed.

It's like watching the same scene in a movie over and over again, trying to figure out if I missed something important. Did Levi smirk because he was amused? Or annoyed? Or maybe—no, definitely—because he knows exactly how to get under my skin. Does Spencer really like being my friend? Is Ethan just tolerating me because I am Spencer's best friend?

I keep replaying conversations in my head, looking for mistakes or hidden meanings. Did I laugh too loudly? Was my comeback too harsh? Sometimes, I imagine all the ways things could've gone wrong, even if they didn't. My brain doesn't care if the scenarios are real or not—it just loves to run wild.

And then there's Levi. Why does he have to be so...him? He says something clever, gives me that infuriating grin, and suddenly my mind is stuck on it for hours. Was he flirting? Was he just trying to one-up me? Why do I even care?

Overthinking feels like I'm trapped in my own head, arguing with myself. Part of me knows I'm overthinking, but that doesn't stop the thoughts from piling up. It's exhausting, like trying to solve a puzzle where the pieces keep changing.

Deep down, I think I overthink because I care—maybe too much. But it's tiring, constantly trying to figure everything out, like I'm scared of missing something important. Still, no matter how much I go over it, the answers never come. Only more questions.

I gasp, trying to take deep breaths. Immediately I open the tap and splash some water on my face. I hated overthinking.

I hated that I didn't live in the present, that my brain chose the past and the future over my present, something that is in control of me, of us.

Closing the tap, I grab the hand towel and dry my face. Walking out of the washroom, the soft sunlight streams through the curtains, warming the quiet of my small apartment. I toss the towel on the counter and head to the kitchen, just thinking about the aroma of ramen drawing me in.

The fridge catches my eye, its surface covered with polaroids. One photo stands out—Levi, Spencer, Ethan, and me, laughing in front of the ferris wheel.

Smiling at the picture, I opened the fridge and grabbed one egg and some green onions. Grabbing the pan, I pour the content according to the instructions given on the pack waiting patiently for the ramen to cook as I chopped some green onions.

I stood by the stove, watching the water bubble as the ramen noodles softened. Steam rose, curling around my face as I ripped open the seasoning packet and poured it in, the rich, savory aroma instantly filling the kitchen.

The smell, making me smile. Ramen was something that always brought comfort to me.

I grabbed the green onions I'd chopped earlier and scattered them on top, then cracked an egg into the pot, watching the yolk swirl gently into the broth.

I sat cross-legged on the couch, the steaming bowl of ramen cradled in my hands. The first bite was pure comfort —the noodles were perfectly chewy, the broth warm and rich, coating my tongue with a salty - savoriness that made me close my eyes for a moment.

I slurped another strand, not caring about the splash on my chin, and chased it with a sip of the broth. The green onions added a fresh crunch, and the egg melted into the soup, making it thicker and creamier with every bite.

It wasn't just food; it was a hug in a bowl, exactly what I needed.

I am craving some ramen now 🍜

Also, overthinking sucks and it's exhausting. I wanted to capture what overthinking feels like because it’s something I experience too. It’s a constant battle in my mind—exhausting and overwhelming. Hopefully, I’ve managed to paint a clearer picture of it.

— sky