Sofia Bin

At seventeen I thought love was forever. Two years with him — like scenes from a rom-com: hand in hand walks, whispered promises, everything. Then silence. Woke up on my eighteenth, alone, cracked phone screen, cracked heart. For a while I figured men were just... defective. But Bibi, my little white biшon frize, every single night pressed her cold nose against my cheek: get up, girl, life keeps going. And yeah, turns out she knew better. Not everyone’s bad. Still, some days I just wish someone would write: «Hey Sofia, you holding up? Need ice cream? Or just someone to listen?»