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Part Three: The Cracks Beneath the Surface

Cikizwa stood on the balcony of the apartment she had moved into in the city, gazing out at the glittering skyline. The lights sparkled in the distance like the stars she had once dreamed of reaching. But now, standing here, she couldn’t shake the emptiness gnawing at her. The city — the life she had fought for, sacrificed for — wasn’t everything she thought it would be.

She had the apartment, the designer clothes, the social circles she’d once fantasized about. But every evening felt the same, a blur of faces and shallow conversations. She was surrounded by people, but it felt like she was invisible. Even in her most extravagant moments, the loneliness crept in like a shadow, whispering that she had sold a piece of herself in exchange for the life she thought she deserved.

The man she had once trusted — the one who had promised her the world — was slipping away, too. Their relationship had started with passion and excitement, but it had quickly dissolved into something hollow. He was a reflection of all her choices: empty, distant, and cold. He didn’t care for her soul, her values, or the person she had once been. He cared only for the parts of her that could benefit his ambitions.

It had been months since she’d seen her friends from back home. The ones who had shared her laughter and her dreams. They had reached out, sent messages, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. She didn’t want to admit how far she had fallen, how much she had changed. They would never understand. No one could.

One evening, she went out to a club with some acquaintances from work. The lights were blinding, the music deafening, but it all felt like a blur, like she was trapped in a dream that had turned into a nightmare. She danced, drank, and laughed, but the joy felt distant, like a mask she had put on for the sake of fitting in.

That night, something broke inside her.

As the night wore on and the crowd around her grew more chaotic, she stumbled into a corner of the club, away from the noise. Her breath was shallow, and her hands trembled as she clutched the edge of the bar, fighting back tears. The feeling of losing herself — truly losing herself — hit her like a wave. The decisions she had made, the people she had let into her life, the pieces of her soul she had given away — they all seemed so clear now, so painfully obvious.

She closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. The pain in her chest was suffocating, the weight of everything she had lost bearing down on her like a storm. And yet, there was no escape. She had chased this life for so long, but now it was as if the very thing she had wanted was slipping through her fingers.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a message from an old friend, someone from her hometown. She opened it with shaking hands.

"I hope you're doing okay, Cikizwa. I miss the old you. We all miss you. Don't forget who you are. You're still our sister."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. "Don't forget who you are." How had she allowed herself to forget? How had she let the hunger for success, the desire for validation, erase the person she once was?

The tears came, slow at first, then faster, until she couldn’t hold them back anymore. She had everything she thought she wanted, but in the process, she had lost herself — her morals, her self-respect, her soul.

And now, in the darkest corner of the city she had dreamed of, Cikizwa realized the truth: you can’t have it all, at least not all at once. Some sacrifices leave scars that never fade.

She stumbled out of the club that night, her mind reeling, her heart heavy. She couldn’t go back to the past. She couldn’t undo the choices she had made. But what was left for her now? What was she supposed to do with the broken pieces of herself?