Mila’s Battle With the Mind’s Darkest “What Ifs”

Mila always said she was “quirky.” It wasn’t just a cute label—she truly never fit in. Her eyes would often drift away during conversations, lost in thought, and her mind would slip into distant corners of the universe where others dared not tread. Most people assumed she was shy or distracted. But Mila was something else entirely.

She could feel things. Not just emotions—real, heavy, terrifying feelings that pressed on her chest and twisted her stomach. She lived as though disaster lurked around every corner, as if she bore the responsibility to hold the world’s fragile balance with nothing more than instinct and rituals only she could understand.

While sitting in her sanctuary—the old city library filled with dusty tales and forgotten fables—Mila was suddenly gripped by dread. Her brother, Zede. Something was wrong. She could feel his heart pulsing violently in her own chest. She saw him on the floor, clutching his chest, breath fading. She loved Zede fiercely. The thought of losing him stabbed deep into her spirit.

In a panic, she looked at the coffee cup she had set on the table earlier. Without thinking, she picked it up and repositioned it—precisely at a 35-degree angle. Different, but not quite unfamiliar. The sensation vanished. Her heart steadied. With that small adjustment, she could finally return to the comfort of her favorite 1800s folklore.

This was Mila’s life. Endlessly sensing doom. Constantly trying to prevent catastrophe. She knew, logically, that humans couldn’t manipulate destiny, yet she lived as if she could—must—try. Nobody knew her battles. They saw her gentle smile, her quiet demeanor, and her soft laugh. But no one saw the invisible battlefield she walked daily, shielding them from terrors only she could sense.

As time passed, the “gift” she once relied on began to frighten her. It dominated even her most mundane choices. One afternoon, she walked into the pantry to grab a snack. Her hand reached for a muffin—but the moment she touched it, she saw her cousin Tavix vomiting in pain. Horrified, she dropped the muffin. She tried picking up a slice of bread instead, only to envision her dear friend Savik gasping for air.

“No!” she cried aloud, startling herself. The images were vivid, relentless. She froze, unable to eat. Every decision spiraled into imagined suffering. She was exhausted.

Desperate for peace, Mila turned to a local doctor. He listened patiently and told her something that changed everything: “Challenge the thoughts. Don’t obey them. They aren’t real.”

That night, the test came. As she brewed tea, a familiar unease crept over her. Her mind screamed: Take the kettle off the stove, or something awful will happen. She stood still. Her hands trembled. What if she didn’t obey?

“I want tea,” she whispered. “These thoughts are not real.”

She left the kettle where it was.

The fear surged like a wave threatening to drown her—but she didn’t move. Then, like a storm breaking, it passed. For the first time, she felt powerful—like she’d outwitted her own mind.

But the next morning, a knock shattered that illusion.

It was her mother. Her voice was muffled, distant, unreal. Mila could hardly breathe as she heard the words—Zede had suffered a stroke.

The grief hit like thunder, rumbling through her body, shaking her soul. Was it a coincidence? Was it fate? Or had her resistance to her compulsions somehow caused this?

She didn’t know. And that unknowing would haunt her for the rest of her life.

From that day forward, Mila continued her battle. She saved others not through actions others could see, but through countless, unseen rituals—fueled by love, fear, and an eternal question echoing through her mind:

“What if?”

Moral of the Story:

Even when our thoughts lie to us, the weight of love can make us feel responsible for things beyond our control. Mental health struggles are invisible wars—and every step toward healing is an act of courage.