Amidst the lively atmosphere, a 10-year-old student, Scylla, sat quietly at the back, observing her classmates. She never raised her hand, never laughed too loud, never joined the little groups forming around her. Her eyes stayed on the teacher, her pencil moving in neat lines across her paper.
When the final bell rang, the room erupted with relief. Children rushed out in packs, their laughter bouncing down the hallways. Scylla packed her books slowly, delaying what waited outside.
The walk home always felt longer than it was. Her shoes scuffed against the pavement as she kept her eyes low, clutching her bag tightly. But today, something made her pause.
On the sidewalk, not far ahead, a small kitten wobbled on unsteady paws. Its fur was dirty, matted in patches, and its tail flicked nervously as it searched the ground for scraps. Alone, just wandering, like it had been forgotten by the world.
Scylla stopped and stared. Her chest tightened with a feeling she couldn't name. She wanted to crouch down, call to it, take it home—but she knew better. Her father would never allow it.
The kitten looked at her for a moment, its green eyes wide and cautious, before padding off between the cracks of a fence.
She stood there for a long time, until the street grew too quiet. Then, with heavy steps, she continued on her way.
When she reached her house, the sound of the TV and her mother's voice greeted her.
"Oh, Scarlet. I'm glad you're safe." She was on the couch with the TV blaring, a half-empty can of beer resting in her hand.
Scylla just nodded in response. She went straight to her room, where she changed her clothes, then she went downstairs and washed her face in the bathroom.
While staring at her reflection in the mirror, she wonders what kind of life she has and what kind of family she is living with. She looked around the messy bathroom, with cracked walls and a dirty toilet.
She went back to her room and used her notebook to distract herself from her harsh reality. She opened her notebook, her secret refuge, and began to write.
"Today I saw a kitten. It looked lost, just like me."
She paused, staring at the page. Then, she added:
"I hope it finds a home. Maybe tomorrow I'll see it again."
While she was writing in her notebook, Scylla heard her father's voice downstairs. It seems like he's drunk again, complaining about everything inside their home.
Scylla got up and locked the doors of her room, and turned off the light. She's afraid that her father will see her and scold her again for no reason, so she pretends to be asleep.
For Scylla, this is just an ordinary day. Her mother was not an alcoholic back then, but that changed when problems started flooding their life. Scylla always thought that she was the problem. Even though she was young, she already had a taste of reality.
Scylla usually spends her days locked in her room, afraid of her parents, never having the courage to tell her situation to anyone. She's lucky today that her father did not hit her, he's often angry that Scylla always hides from them and does not do anything useful.
(A few weeks later)
It was break time. Scylla finally unwrapped the small piece of bread she had bought earlier from the bakery. She sat alone at the back of the classroom, eating slowly. The peaceful and quiet environment was what she always wanted.
But the peace never lasted long.
A group of boys approached her desk, smirking.
"Hey, it's the lonely girl again," one of them said mockingly.
"Why are you always covered in bruises? Don't tell me you're just bad at sports," another chimed in.
"And you're always so quiet... honestly, you're kinda creepy."
The boys burst into laughter.
Scylla lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the bread. She didn't say a word—she never did.
From the other side of the room, some girls overheard and stepped in.
"Enough! Leave her alone," one of them snapped.
The boys grumbled but eventually backed off, still laughing among themselves.
Scylla was thankful. Truly, she was. But when the girls glanced at her, waiting for even a small response, she couldn't bring herself to speak. Her lips wouldn't move. Her voice stayed buried inside.
(A few hours later)
The bell rang. School ended. Scylla watched her classmates rush to the gates where parents waited—smiling, waving, reaching out with open arms. Some walked hand in hand, some laughing at something said along the way.
She stood there, watching from behind, knowing she would never experience that kind of warmth.
Her steps eventually carried her away from the school. This time, she didn't go straight home. She took a different route, wandering into unfamiliar streets.
The city felt bigger, filled with shops she hadn't noticed before, and people who didn't know her name. For a moment, she almost felt free.
But freedom cost her time. By the time she reached her doorstep, the sky had already dimmed.
Her father was there.
"Where did you go? Huh? Don't you know what time it is?"
Scylla tried to respond.
"I... I just—"
"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" Her father shouted.
She flinched, eyes wide, tears forming against her will. The sound of his anger terrified her more than anything.
He stood abruptly, but before he could step closer, her mother emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth.
"What's going on?" Her mom asked them.
"Your daughter went somewhere else. Look! What time is it? That girl needs to be disciplined."
"I'll talk to her." Her mother grabbed her hand, and they went upstairs.
"Where did you go, Scarlet? You know your father will be mad if you're late." Her mother asked.
Scylla responded even though she couldn't stop crying.
"I-I... I j-just want to g-go around the s-streets..." Scylla tried her best to stop crying and speak clearly, but she couldn't.
Her mother sighed, brushing her hair back. "Don't do that again. Go home as soon as possible after school. Don't go anywhere."
Scylla nodded, wiping her face with trembling hands. She wanted to explain more, that she only wanted to breathe, to escape even for a little while—but she couldn't. The words stayed locked away.
So instead, she cried.
The quiet, emotionless girl who rarely let herself break finally released it all, tears soaking her hands. She had been collecting her reasons to cry for so long, burying them deeper each day.