At the Nior mansion, Rhea sat at her desk, books open but unread.
She stared at the same page for several minutes, eyes moving without absorbing anything.
Her phone buzzed.
She flinched slightly, then picked it up.
A message notification.
University Group:
Official notice: Semester-end party tonight, 8 PM, banquet hall.
Rhea exhaled slowly.
A party.
Crowds. Noise. Faces.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Shyra entered the room without knocking, Amaya on her hip.
"So," Shyra said lightly, "are you going?"
Rhea didn't look up. "No."
Shyra sighed. "Rhea."
"I don't feel like it," Rhea replied calmly.
"That's exactly why you should go," Shyra countered. "You've been locked in this room for days."
"I've been fine," Rhea said.
"You skipped uni," Shyra pointed out. "That's not fine."
Rhea closed her book neatly. "I said I'll go soon."
"And tonight?" Shyra pressed.
Rhea stayed silent.
Amaya tugged at Rhea's sleeve. "Ninna."
Rhea softened immediately. "What is it, baby?"
Amaya babbled something incomprehensible and smiled.
Shyra watched the interaction carefully, then said, gentler now, "Rhea, it's just a party. Music. Food. People your age."
"I don't like people," Rhea said flatly.
"You used to," Shyra replied.
Rhea's jaw tightened. "That was a different time."
Shyra shifted Amaya to her other arm. "You can't punish yourself forever."
"I'm not punishing myself," Rhea said quietly. "I'm protecting myself."
Shyra shook her head. "From what? From living?"
Rhea didn't answer.
Shyra walked closer. "You don't even have to stay long. One hour. Freshen your mood. Come back."
Rhea looked away. "Crowds exhaust me."
"So does isolation," Shyra said immediately.
Silence settled between them.
Amaya yawned, resting her head against Shyra's shoulder.
Shyra spoke again, softer. "You don't have to smile. You don't have to talk much. Just… exist somewhere else for a bit."
Rhea's fingers curled slightly on the desk.
"What if I don't want to?" she asked.
Shyra met her gaze. "Then I'll stop asking."
A pause.
"But," Shyra added, "I think you do want to. You're just scared to admit it."
Rhea let out a slow breath.
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
Shyra smiled faintly. "That's all I'm asking."
She turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Wear something comfortable. Not armor."
Rhea didn't respond.
Her phone buzzed again—more messages from classmates planning outfits, arrivals, excitement.
She turned the screen face down.
Alone again, Rhea leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
A party.
One night.
She whispered to herself, almost reluctantly, "Maybe."
Ling returned to the Kwong mansion late evening.
The gates closed behind her with their familiar heavy sound, one that once felt like power and now felt like weight. As she stepped inside, she noticed immediately—someone was waiting.
Dadi sat in the living room, shawl wrapped tight, eyes fixed on the door as if she had been counting seconds.
Ling stopped.
"Why are you sitting here?" Ling asked, voice low. "You should be resting."
Dadi scoffed. "Don't lecture me in my own house."
Ling exhaled slowly and walked forward. "You were discharged three days ago."
"And you disappeared two days ago," Dadi shot back. "Fair trade."
Ling didn't reply. She bent slightly and kissed Dadi's forehead. Dadi grabbed her wrist mid-motion, holding on longer than necessary.
"You think I didn't notice?" Dadi said quietly. "You came back, but your soul is still wandering."
Ling stiffened. "I'm fine."
Dadi snorted. "You've said that since you were fifteen. Sit."
Ling obeyed without argument.
Before she could speak again, Eliza entered from the dining area, carrying a tray.
"Don't move," Eliza said sharply. "I cooked."
Ling blinked. "You cooked?"
"Yes," Eliza replied, placing the plate in front of her. "And don't make that face. You used to like this."
Ling looked down.
Her favorite food.
The one she hadn't eaten since… she didn't finish the thought.
"I'm not hungry," Ling muttered.
Eliza pulled a chair and sat beside her. "You will eat."
"I said—"
Eliza picked up a spoon.
Ling froze.
Eliza scooped a bite and lifted it calmly. "Open your mouth."
Ling turned her head. "Mom."
"Mom," Eliza mocked softly, "fed you when you were sick, when you were stubborn, when you thought starving yourself made you strong."
Dadi added dryly, "Open your mouth before I force it."
Ling stared at both of them.
Then, reluctantly, she opened her mouth.
Eliza fed her slowly, deliberately, as if Ling were fragile glass.
Ling clenched her jaw between bites. "I can eat on my own."
"Clearly you weren't," Eliza replied, feeding her another spoon. "You've lost weight."
Ling looked away.
From the corner of the room, Mira watched silently.
As Eliza reached for another bite, Mira stepped closer, leaning slightly toward Ling.
"Ling," Mira said softly, "you look tired. Maybe you should rest—"
"Stay away," Ling said sharply without looking at her.
The room went still.
Mira froze. "I was just—"
"I said," Ling finally turned her head, eyes cold, "stay away."
Mira stepped back immediately, face paling. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you mean," Ling cut in. "And I don't want it."
Eliza glanced at Ling but said nothing, continuing to feed her as if the interruption never happened.
Dadi watched Mira for a long second before speaking. "Child, learn when silence suits you."
Mira swallowed and nodded. "Yes, Dadi."
She retreated without another word.
Ling's hand trembled slightly on the table. Eliza noticed and paused.
"Enough," Eliza said quietly. "Last bite."
Ling didn't argue this time.
After Eliza finished feeding her, Ling leaned back, eyes closing briefly.
Dadi reached out and rested her hand over Ling's. "You think being harsh makes you untouchable."
Ling opened her eyes. "It keeps people in their place."
"No," Dadi corrected. "It keeps pain buried. There's a difference."
Ling looked away again. "I don't have time for pain."
Dadi squeezed her hand. "Pain doesn't wait for permission."
Silence stretched.
Then Eliza spoke, softer now. "You joined the university."
Ling nodded once.
Dadi hummed. "Good. Stay busy."
Ling stood up. "I'll go to my room."
As she turned to leave, Dadi called out, "Ling."
She stopped.
"Don't disappear again," Dadi said, voice breaking just slightly. "My heart can't take it."
Ling didn't turn back, but her voice came steady. "I won't."
She walked upstairs, past familiar walls, past memories that never faded.
Inside her room, the door closed softly.
And for a moment—just a moment—Ling stood still, the weight of care heavier than any enemy she had ever faced.