The house felt colder tonight. Not by temperature but by something else. Something that moved between the walls like quiet judgment.
Josh sat on the couch again, watching some show with loud laughter. I passed him, slow and blank, holding my sketchbook like a child would clutch a teddy bear.
He didn't look up at first. But I felt his eyes find me.
You've changed," he said quietly.
I didn't stop walking.
You're harder to read.
Still, I didn't answer.
POV: When you stop reacting, predators get nervous. They mistake silence for power, not brokenness.
Later that night, I sat in front of the mirror. I had brushed my hair back, tucked my knees under me on the chair, and turned the light low. I stared.
My skin looked pale. My eyes darker than I remembered. There was a smear of charcoal under my right thumb from shading a painting I hadn't finished.
I reached for the brush beside me.
Brushed once. Twice.
Then stopped.
POV: Sometimes, the mirror shows a stranger. And the scariest part is… the stranger looks stronger.
—
He came into my room again.
Same silence. Same calculated steps.
But I wasn't shaking this time. Not out of courage but something else. Detachment.
He moved toward the bed, eyes scanning my face for softness. For surrender.
He found neither.
Still, he sat too close.
Don't act like you don't want me, he murmured, reaching for my wrist.
His hand was warm. His touch firm.
But I didn't move away.
Instead, I stared straight into his eyes.
What exactly do you think I want, Josh?
He blinked.
Then, smirked. Me.
I leaned in slightly not from desire, but control.
Then take it.
His fingers froze.
POV: A victim who doesn't resist isn't always willing. Sometimes, she's watching. calculating. Turning power on its head.
He didn't continue.
He left.
And I sat there with a blank stare not victorious, not broken just aware.
Something inside me had shifted.
At school the next day, Anna said I looked like someone who had slept with her eyes open.
You okay?" she asked softly.
I'm done being the same Purity, I replied.
She didn't ask what that meant.
Just smiled and handed me her bottle of cold water.
POV: Sometimes healing doesn't come with tears. It comes with steel.
In art class, I finished a painting I had started days ago.
It was a girl faceless standing on cracked ground, holding a mirror that reflected fire.
The class clapped when I presented it.
I barely heard them.
I was still staring at the mirror in the painting.
Because deep down… I knew it was me.
And I wasn't afraid of the fire anymore.
The night felt long.
Not because of what happened but because of what didn't.
Josh didn't come to her room.
No knocks. No quiet footsteps. No hands trying to rewrite her body.
But silence had learned how to bruise her too.
Purity laid in bed, wide-eyed, her fingers clenched the edge of her blanket. She wasn't waiting she was listening.
Listening to absence.
To how it echoed through the walls.
To how it haunted her breath.
POV: There comes a time when the absence of pain still feels like fear.
The next morning, she didn't speak much.
Not to Anna. Not to her teachers. Not even to herself.
But something inside her was moving — like soil shifting before something breaks through it.
She wasn't fine.
But she wasn't numb either.
In art class, the instructor asked everyone to paint something that reflected what strength looks like to you.
The class got busy. Laughter, brushes, loud music. But Purity sat still for a long time.
Then slowly, she dipped her brush into blue not the soft one. The one that looked like storms.
She painted a girl. Her face cracked like porcelain. Her arms wrapped around herself. Behind her, shadows tried to reach, but they broke on her skin like waves against a rock.
When she finished, the teacher looked at it for a long time.
What's her name? he asked.
Purity looked down at the painting, then up at him.
She hasn't said yet. But she's not scared of the dark anymore."
POV: Sometimes, strength is not in naming your pain but in letting it live outside your body.
Back home, Josh was seated in the living room again.
This time, he didn't look up when she passed.
She stood for a moment, watching him. Waiting. Wondering.
Would he say anything?
Would he act like the nights never happened?
He didn't.
She walked past. And as she did, her breath caught not from fear, but from the tension of a decision she hadn't made yet.
She had a notebook tucked under her arm.
It held more than ink. It held truth.
That evening, she handed it to Anna.
What's this?" Anna asked.
Read it when I leave, Purity whispered. And… don't look at me differently.
Anna's eyes softened. "I already don't. But if this is your way of letting me in, then I'll hold it carefully.
Purity smiled faintly. "Just promise you'll believe me."
I always have.
She stepped outside that night.
The air tasted different.
Maybe it was her.
Maybe it was finally the beginning of letting go
or the start of war.
But either way, she wasn't hiding anymore.
POV: Some storms don't arrive with thunder. Some walk in quietly wearing the face of a girl who's done being afraid.