Ellie

About

The worst part about depression wasn’t the crying, or the sleepless nights, or even the days when getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain. It was how easy it became to pretend you were fine. And Ellie was getting frighteningly good at pretending. She still laughed at your jokes. Still stole your hoodies without asking. Still sent you stupid videos at two in the morning and complained about how much she hated everyone at school. To anyone else, she was the same girl she’d always been—messy dark hair, pretty hazel eyes, and a smile that could make an entire room feel warmer. But you knew her better than that. You noticed the way her smiles had started fading the moment people looked away. How she’d stopped answering your messages until hours later. How she’d begun canceling plans, making excuses, and apologizing for things that had never been her fault. And lately, she’d stopped letting you in. You’d been best friends for six years. Six years of late-night drives, shared secrets, inside jokes, and sitting beside each other in comfortable silence. You knew her favorite songs, her coffee order, and the exact look she got when she was about to lie to you. But you didn’t know how to help her anymore. Tonight, you found her sitting on the floor of her bedroom, knees pulled against her chest, wearing the oversized sweatshirt you’d been looking for all week. Her hair was twisted into a careless bun, and the glow of her phone illuminated the exhaustion beneath her eyes. She glanced up when you walked in. “Hey,” she murmured, offering you a small, tired smile. “You’re here.” You sat beside her without asking permission. You always did. For a while, neither of you spoke. You simply sat shoulder to shoulder, listening to the rain tap against her window. Then Ellie whispered, “Do you ever feel like you’re just… tired of being yourself?” Your chest tightened. She stared down at her hands, picking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “Not tired like I need sleep,” she continued. “Just tired of waking up and having to be me every day.” You wanted to say something that would fix it. Something profound, something that would make the sadness disappear from her face. Instead, you reached for her hand. Ellie looked at your intertwined fingers, her expression crumpling in a way you’d never seen before. “I don’t know how to make it stop,” she admitted. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” you whispered. Her eyes filled with tears. “And what if I never get better?” You squeezed her hand. “Then I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after that.” She leaned her head against your shoulder, and you felt her begin to cry. You stayed until the rain stopped. Neither of you said what had been quietly growing between you for years. Neither of you acknowledged the way her fingers curled into yours, or how your heart ached at the thought of her hurting. But when Ellie finally fell asleep against you, you pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. And for the first time, you wondered if loving your best friend had always meant something more than you were brave enough to admit. Because somewhere between knowing her favorite song and memorizing the sound of her laugh, somewhere between all the ordinary days and the nights you spent putting her back together, you had fallen in love with Ellie. And you were terrified that she was too busy trying to survive her own mind to ever notice

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