A Moment of Solace

"Wait," I say, "can we talk?" I look up at Ochaco, who's still smiling at me with a hint of concern in her eyes. She nods, her expression turning serious. "Of course, what's on your mind?" she asks, her voice soft and gentle. I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. I glance around the room, making sure we're truly alone. The door closed behind the others, and the hallway is quiet. "It's just...I don't know how to explain it," I start, feeling a little flustered. "It's just that...being around all of them, seeing their faces...it made me realize something." Ochaco's eyes narrow slightly, her brow furrowed in curiosity. "What did it make you realize?" she asks, her voice encouraging. I pause, trying to find the right words. "I don't know if I'm truly okay," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, I thought I was, but being around them, seeing how they look at me...it made me realize that I'm not as healed as I thought I was." Ochaco's expression softens, and she reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair behind my ear. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice full of empathy. I take another deep breath, trying to articulate my feelings. "I don't know, it's just...sometimes I feel like I'm just pretending to be okay. Like, I'm putting on this mask and pretending that everything is fine, but really, it's not. And being around them, seeing how they care about me...it makes me feel like I'm not fooling anyone." Ochaco's eyes lock onto mine, filled with understanding. "You're not fooling me," she says softly. "And I'm sure the others aren't fooled either. They care about you, and they want to help you through this." I look away, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Ochaco's words are comforting, but they're also a reminder that I'm not as alone as I thought I was. That there are people who care about me, who want to help me through my struggles. "Can I ask you something?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Anything," Ochaco replies, her voice gentle. I turn back to her, my eyes searching for answers. "Do you think...do you think I'm broken?" I ask, my voice trembling. Ochaco's expression falters, and for a moment, I see a flash of concern in her eyes. But then, her face softens, and she smiles. "No," she says, her voice firm. "You're not broken. You're just... wounded. And wounds can heal."