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short story: a ray of hope
Lottie5433
Posts: 20 Boards Initiate
*A ray of hope*
The Room with No Windows
Mira sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the pale gray walls of her apartment. The room felt like it was shrinking. She wanted to open the window for air, but there were no windows. Not anymore.
Three weeks ago, she had stopped drawing the curtains. The world outside felt too overwhelming—too loud, too bright, too much. So she’d taped blankets over the glass, muting the sunlight and muffling the sounds of cars and people. At first, it felt like safety. Now, it felt like a cage.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sharp vibration breaking the heavy silence. She glanced at it but didn’t reach for it. Another missed text from her best friend, Nadia.
Hey, just checking in. Wanna grab coffee? No pressure.
Mira sighed and let the phone go dark again. She didn’t have the energy to explain why she couldn’t face a coffee shop full of strangers. Why she couldn’t even face herself.
The shadows in the room grew longer, and the weight on her chest heavier. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to fight this thing—this relentless fog that pulled her under. She’d gone to therapy, tried journaling, even bought one of those plants people swore would make you feel alive again. The plant sat wilting on her kitchen counter now, another silent witness to her failure.
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger had become just another dull ache, blending in with all the others.
Suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Mira froze. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Mira, it’s me,” a voice called softly. Nadia.
Mira clenched her fists. Why couldn’t she just leave her alone?
“I know you’re in there,” Nadia continued. Her voice was calm, but firm, the way you’d talk to a frightened animal. “You don’t have to open the door, but… I brought you something. It’s on the step.”
There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway. Mira didn’t move for a long time, her heart thudding in her chest. Finally, curiosity—or maybe guilt—pushed her off the bed.
She cracked the door open just enough to see a small package on the floor: a brown paper bag with a sticky note attached.
“For the days that feel impossible. Love, N.”
Inside the bag was a warm container of soup, a slice of bread, and a tiny potted cactus. Mira stared at the cactus for a long time. It was small and spiky, but somehow… alive.
She set the bag on the kitchen counter, next to the dying plant. For the first time in weeks, she poured herself a bowl of soup.
As she ate, she kept glancing at the cactus. It didn’t need much to survive—just a little water and sunlight. Maybe she could manage that.
Maybe, tomorrow, she could pull the blanket off the window.
***images to come soon***
The Room with No Windows
Mira sat at the edge of her bed, staring at the pale gray walls of her apartment. The room felt like it was shrinking. She wanted to open the window for air, but there were no windows. Not anymore.
Three weeks ago, she had stopped drawing the curtains. The world outside felt too overwhelming—too loud, too bright, too much. So she’d taped blankets over the glass, muting the sunlight and muffling the sounds of cars and people. At first, it felt like safety. Now, it felt like a cage.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sharp vibration breaking the heavy silence. She glanced at it but didn’t reach for it. Another missed text from her best friend, Nadia.
Hey, just checking in. Wanna grab coffee? No pressure.
Mira sighed and let the phone go dark again. She didn’t have the energy to explain why she couldn’t face a coffee shop full of strangers. Why she couldn’t even face herself.
The shadows in the room grew longer, and the weight on her chest heavier. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to fight this thing—this relentless fog that pulled her under. She’d gone to therapy, tried journaling, even bought one of those plants people swore would make you feel alive again. The plant sat wilting on her kitchen counter now, another silent witness to her failure.
Her stomach growled, but she ignored it. Hunger had become just another dull ache, blending in with all the others.
Suddenly, there was a knock at her door. Mira froze. She wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Mira, it’s me,” a voice called softly. Nadia.
Mira clenched her fists. Why couldn’t she just leave her alone?
“I know you’re in there,” Nadia continued. Her voice was calm, but firm, the way you’d talk to a frightened animal. “You don’t have to open the door, but… I brought you something. It’s on the step.”
There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway. Mira didn’t move for a long time, her heart thudding in her chest. Finally, curiosity—or maybe guilt—pushed her off the bed.
She cracked the door open just enough to see a small package on the floor: a brown paper bag with a sticky note attached.
“For the days that feel impossible. Love, N.”
Inside the bag was a warm container of soup, a slice of bread, and a tiny potted cactus. Mira stared at the cactus for a long time. It was small and spiky, but somehow… alive.
She set the bag on the kitchen counter, next to the dying plant. For the first time in weeks, she poured herself a bowl of soup.
As she ate, she kept glancing at the cactus. It didn’t need much to survive—just a little water and sunlight. Maybe she could manage that.
Maybe, tomorrow, she could pull the blanket off the window.
***images to come soon***
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Comments
Page 1: The Isolation
Panel 1: Wide shot of Mira's room
Mira sits on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the gray wall.
The taped blankets covering the windows are visible, the room dim and shadowy.
Caption: "The world outside felt too loud, too bright, too much."
Panel 2: Close-up of her phone on the nightstand
The screen lights up with a text:
Nadia: Hey, just checking in. Wanna grab coffee? No pressure.
Mira’s hand hovers over the phone but doesn’t pick it up.
Caption: "She didn’t have the energy to explain why she couldn’t even face herself."
Panel 3: Shot of the wilting plant in the kitchen
The plant droops in its pot, mirroring Mira’s state of mind.
Caption: "She’d even bought a plant to feel alive again. But it was dying too."
Wish to bully me…I’m used to it
Want to talk crap about me…go on then
Want to make me cry…feel free
You’ve captured Mira’s isolation and inner battle so clearly, and it’s something so many people will relate to. I also love how the small gestures, like the soup and cactus, bring the glimmer of hope. It’s such a simple yet powerful reminder of how much little acts of kindness can mean.
Also, did you draw that illustration?! Like danggg, you're super talented!
Honestly, this feels like something you’d see in a mental health awareness campaign. Can’t wait to see if you add more panels or even develop this further. Amazing work!
I did indeed do the illustrations!! I dont think there that good. But art is something that i use to love bit never felt confident to actually draw and show others, so thabk you for that ♥️
There are more illustrations and panels to come, finishing the 2nd page today so hopefully it will be up this evening!!
Panel 1: Close-up of the door as a faint knock echoes
Mira sits frozen in the shadows.
Speech bubble (from outside): “Mira, it’s me.”
Panel 2: Nadia’s voice continues through the door
Speech bubble: “You don’t have to open the door, but… I brought you something. It’s on the step.”
Panel 3: Wide shot of Mira standing alone, the door barely ajar
The hallway outside is empty, but a small paper bag sits on the step.
Caption: "Her heart thudded as she peeked out. She hadn’t expected this."
Panel 1: Mira holding the bag, standing in the dim light of her kitchen
She reads the sticky note on the bag:
“For the days that feel impossible. Love, N.”
Panel 2: Close-up of her hands pulling out the cactus
A tiny green cactus with small, stubborn spikes rests in her palms.
Caption: "It didn’t need much to survive—just a little water and sunlight."
Panel 3: Side shot of Mira sitting at her table, eating the soup
Steam rises from the bowl as she takes a bite.
The cactus is placed on the table next to her.