Ask

I wish someone would look at me and ask, *"Are you okay?"* Not the casual kind, not the question asked while walking away, not the version people expect me to answer with, *"Yeah, I'm fine."* I want someone to stop, to really see me, and ask, *"Are you okay, truly?"* Because the truth is, I'm tired. Tired in a way sleep can't fix. My smile is practiced, my laugh arrives on cue, and I've become so good at pretending that no one notices how much of me is missing. I carry storms behind my eyes and earthquakes in my chest, yet somehow I still look normal enough for people to believe I'm okay. Sometimes I want to tell them. I want to say, *"I'm not doing as well as I seem."* I want to tell them about the nights when my thoughts are louder than the silence, about the mornings when getting out of bed feels like lifting the world. But fear wraps itself around my throat. Because what if they see the real me? The tired me. The crying me. The shaking-hands, barely-holding-on me. What if they realize I'm not as strong as they thought? What if the truth makes them leave? So I keep painting smiles over cracks no one notices, keep saying, *"I'm good,"* when I'm anything but. And still, deep inside, there's a small part of me hoping someone will look closer. Hoping someone will see past the jokes, past the grades, past the carefully built disguise. Hoping they'll stay long enough to ask, *"Are you okay, truly?"* And hoping, for once, I might be brave enough to tell them the truth.