Grinding Side by Side

I woke up with a crick in my neck and the faint smell of cotton candy still stuck to my hoodie. For a moment, I almost forgot where I was — like maybe I'd slept through everything.

But then my phone buzzed.

A reminder about my overdue rent.

My dad's voice yelling last night. The bills stacked on the kitchen counter like small towers of dread.

I rolled over, grabbed my phone, and stared at the screen.

Scholarship application deadline: 3 days.

It was there. Waiting.

My fingers hovered over the email, the cursor blinking on the empty form.

I wanted to start it.

I wanted to prove I could do this — that I deserved to do this.

But the fear wrapped around me tight, like the cold winter wind sneaking in through the cracks of the old apartment.

What if I don't belong there?

What if I'm just pretending?

What if I'm wrong?

The silence in my room felt heavier than the day before — heavier than any shift or scream from the espresso machine.

I sighed and shoved the phone aside.

Later, my dad barged into my room.

"Where's my money, Ermelinda?" His voice was sharp, tired.

"I'm trying, Dad." I bit my lip, looking anywhere but at him.

"Trying isn't paying the rent."

I clenched my fists, swallowing the words that wanted to burst out.

That night, I called Elias.

His voice was warm, like the last ember in a dying fire.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," he answered. "You okay?"

I hesitated. "I wanted to tell you something."

He was quiet for a moment.

"You can tell me anything."

But I didn't.

Instead, I whispered, "Thanks for last night."

"Anytime. You deserve nights like that — every night."

And just like that, I felt a little lighter.

Maybe tomorrow I'd be almost brave enough to try.