She stared blankly into the void and took a deep breath.
Yesterday, everything collapsed. All at once.
It felt like the shield she built — the one she wore so carefully to prevent things like this — had failed her again.
She avoids getting close to people. She knows how toxic she can be.
She keeps them at a safe distance to protect her own heart —
a heart that trusts too easily, a heart that breaks too quietly.
Her shield is strong. She knows how to be alone.
But then came this girl — someone who felt familiar in the strangest way.
So different in energy, so opposite in expression — and yet somehow, they clicked.
Let’s just call them Kuromi and Melody.
Kuromi was hesitant.
But somewhere deep inside, a small voice rose up from the graveyard of past pain and said:
“Come on, give her a chance. You never know what might happen.”
So she did.
They partied. They laughed.
They became friends.
Kuromi felt like Melody was a younger sister — chaotic and soft, in contrast to her own jagged edges.
Even when distance grew, Kuromi reached out. Always.
Memes. Check-ins. Soft reminders that love hadn’t left.
And when Melody’s heart broke,
Kuromi brought her food. Sat with her. Made sure she ate.
Held her when she cried.
Stayed, when no one else did.
But slowly, when the heartbreak faded… so did Melody.
And when Kuromi stopped reaching out, Melody didn’t notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care.
Then… the farewell party.
Photos on Instagram. Smiling faces.
Everyone was there — except her.
Not even a message. Not even a thought.
Like she never existed.
She cried. She raged. She typed out a message she never sent:
“Wow, you look amazing. I hope you had a great night. Oh, and before you go — fuck you. Because when you were grieving over your ex, I was the one who brought you food. I made sure you had something in your stomach. I held you. I stayed. And now you forget me? Leave me out? If I don’t reach out, then you wouldn’t? Hell — shove that excuse up your ass. And have a good life treating people like shit.”
But she didn’t send it.
Instead, she unfollowed. Unfriended.
Quietly buried the friendship.
They don’t deserve her voice anymore. Not her words. Not her presence.
So maybe… this chapter is for Melody.
Maybe one day, Kuromi will forgive her.
But she’ll never forget.
This scar?
It stays — not to keep her angry,
but to remind her of her worth.
To remind her that she deserves more.
So much more.
Best,
K
A Small World of a Moon Hedgehog 