The house was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet, not the gentle hush of an afternoon nap or the calm before rain. This quiet pressed against the walls, thick and suffocating, as though the air itself had decided to stop moving. Even the old ceiling fan above the living room seemed hesitant, its slow rotation creaking faintly with each turn, like it was unsure whether it should keep going.
Luna Grey sat on the couch, her body sunk deep into the cushions, laptop balanced on her thighs, fingers hovering uselessly above the keyboard. She hadn't typed anything in over twenty minutes. She didn't need to. There was nothing left to submit, nothing left to fix, nothing left to pray over.
Everything that could be done had already been done.
Now came the waiting.
Her eyes were locked on the screen, unblinking, glassy, staring so hard it felt as though she might fall into it. The email inbox glowed back at her, painfully ordinary, rows of subject lines stacked one above the other, most of them meaningless now. Promotional emails. Newsletters. Spam. All of it irrelevant.
Her heart beat loudly in her ears—too loudly. It thudded against her ribcage with restless impatience, each pulse sharp and insistent, as though trying to escape. Her breathing came shallow, uneven. In her mind, thoughts tangled and collided, looping over themselves in frantic spirals.
What if it's a rejection?
What if they made a mistake?
What if I wasn't good enough after all?
Nervousness crept into her chest, followed closely by anxiety, then by that cruel, quiet thing called probability. Numbers she didn't want to think about. Statistics she had tried to ignore. Twenty students. Thousands of applicants. Brilliant minds from all over the world.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of the couch.
She had told herself she was prepared for anything. That she would be fine no matter the outcome. That rejection wouldn't break her.
But that was a lie.
In truth, she was paralyzed.
Every second that passed felt stretched, distorted, as if time itself had slowed just to mock her. Her stomach churned violently, nausea rising and falling in waves. Her throat felt tight, dry. She swallowed hard.
For a moment—a terrifying, irrational moment—she thought she might faint.
And then the cursor moved.
Luna froze.
Her breath caught sharply in her throat as the arrow on the screen shifted, gliding across the inbox without her touching the mouse. The screen flickered once. Twice. Her pulse spiked so suddenly it felt like her heart skipped entirely.
"No," she whispered, barely audible, unsure if she was begging or warning herself.
A new email opened on its own.
Her vision blurred.
The subject line loaded first.
Then the body.
One word appeared at the top of the message, bold and unmistakable.
Congratulations.
For half a second, Luna didn't react.
Her brain refused to process it. The word sat there, glowing softly against the white background, unreal, foreign, as though it didn't belong to her life. She stared at it, her mouth slightly open, chest locked tight.
Then it hit her.
The scream tore out of her before she could stop it.
"Oh my GOD!"
She shot up from the couch so fast the laptop nearly slipped from her hands. Tears sprang instantly to her eyes, hot and uncontrollable, blurring the screen as she let out a shriek of unrestrained joy. Laughter bubbled out of her chest, wild and hysterical, tangled with sobs as she spun around the living room, barefoot feet slapping against the floor.
"I DID IT!" she cried, voice cracking. "I DID IT! I'M GOING TO YALE!"
Her world exploded.
She danced without rhythm or sense, arms flailing, body trembling with adrenaline and disbelief. Years of pressure, sacrifice, late nights, rejection fears—all of it burst free at once. Tears streamed down her face as she laughed, shouted, cried all at the same time, clutching the laptop to her chest like proof that this moment was real.
The screen glowed brightly, almost unnaturally so, illuminating her face in the dim room. The word CONGRATULATIONS pulsed faintly, as though alive, beating in time with her racing heart.
In the kitchen, a pot clattered loudly against the floor.
"What?" a voice cried out. "Luna?!"
Mrs. Erica Grey dropped everything and rushed down the hallway, her footsteps hurried and uneven. Panic tightened her expression as she burst into the living room, eyes darting wildly, scanning for blood, for broken glass, for disaster.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, breathless. "What happened?"
Luna stood in the center of the room, frozen now, clutching the laptop, her face a mess of tears and laughter, eyes wide and shining with something that looked almost like fear.
Erica followed her gaze.
Her eyes landed on the screen.
And she stopped breathing.
The room fell silent.
"What is it?" Erica asked slowly, her voice barely more than a whisper. "What does it say?"
She stepped closer, as if afraid the moment might shatter if she moved too fast. The word on the screen seemed to glow brighter between them, filling the space with an almost sacred weight.
Luna's lips trembled.
"Mom," she choked out. "I—"
"Luna, what's wrong?" Erica pressed, fear creeping back into her voice. "You're scaring me."
"Finally," Luna sobbed, and then she was moving, throwing the laptop carelessly onto the couch as she launched herself into her mother's arms. "Mom, finally!"
Erica stiffened in confusion, then wrapped her arms around her daughter instinctively. "Can you tell me what is wrong with you already?" she said, half-exasperated, half-frantic. "What is happening?"
Luna pulled back just enough to look at her, wiping at her tears with shaking hands, trying—and failing—to calm her breathing.
"Okay," she said, laughing through sobs. "Okay. I'll tell you. Mom…" She took a breath. "I got into the new school."
Erica frowned. "The new school?"
"Yes!" Luna bounced back toward the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "I got in! I finally got in!"
"Wait," Erica said slowly. "Luna… are you being serious? Or are you pranking me again like last time?"
Luna stared at her, wounded disbelief flashing across her face. "Mom," she said, incredulous. "Why would I joke about something like this? I'm serious. Come here. Just—just look."
She grabbed the laptop and thrust it toward her mother.
Erica's hands trembled slightly as she took it.
Her eyes scanned the screen.
Then widened.
"Congratulations, Miss Luna Grey," she read aloud, voice faltering. "You have been admitted to Yale University and—"
She didn't finish.
A scream tore from her throat as she dropped the laptop onto the couch and pulled Luna into a fierce, disbelieving embrace. Tears flooded her eyes instantly, spilling down her cheeks as she laughed and cried at once.
"Oh my God," Erica whispered. "Oh my God, Luna…"
"Are you serious?" she pulled back, gripping Luna's shoulders. "You've really been accepted? Yale?"
Luna nodded rapidly, grinning through her tears. "I wouldn't joke about something like that, Mom. I'm really going."
Erica's face crumpled completely.
She burst into tears, clutching her daughter as if afraid she might disappear. "I'm so proud of you," she sobbed. "You're going to do great things. I just know it."
Luna hugged her back tightly. "I couldn't have done it without you."
For a moment, they stayed like that, holding each other in the middle of the living room, surrounded by silence and disbelief and something dangerously close to relief.
Then Erica pulled away, wiping her tears and forcing a smile onto her face. "We need to celebrate," she said. "We'll call Alfred and the family. Dinner is on me."
Luna laughed weakly. "Pizza and ice cream?"
Erica smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "The works."
As she pulled out her phone to send the messages, Luna watched her closely.
That was when she noticed it.
Her mother's hand was trembling.
Just slightly. Almost unnoticeably. But Luna saw it. And behind Erica's smile—bright, proud, forced—there was something else.
Sadness.
A quiet, restrained fear.
Luna's heart skipped.
What aren't you telling me, Mom?
The evening unfolded in laughter and noise, celebration filling the house, but the feeling lingered. As they raised glasses in a toast later that night, Luna made herself a promise.
She would make her mother proud.
No matter what it took.