Chapter One: The Girl Who Never Complains
Feifei had mastered the art of being unnoticed.
She sat in the third row by the window, always the same seat, always the same posture—back straight, hands folded neatly on her desk. Teachers liked her because she never caused trouble. Classmates barely remembered she existed because she never demanded attention.
She answered questions when called.
She smiled when spoken to.
She nodded when people talked at her, not to her.
And when the bell rang, she disappeared into the crowd like she was never there.
From the outside, Feifei's life looked easy. She had good grades, clean uniforms, and a quiet nature that adults praised endlessly.
"She's so mature for her age."
"So well-behaved."
"Such a good girl."
Nobody ever asked if she was happy.
The classroom buzzed with noise as students talked over one another, laughter bouncing off the walls. Feifei stared out the window, watching the sky stretch endlessly beyond the school compound. Clouds drifted slowly, free and careless.
She wondered what that felt like.
"Feifei."
She blinked and turned toward the voice.
"Yes, ma'am?" she said calmly.
Her English teacher smiled. "Can you read the next paragraph?"
Feifei stood up, her chair scraping lightly against the floor. She read clearly, her voice steady, every word pronounced perfectly. When she finished, the teacher nodded approvingly.
"Very good. You may sit."
Feifei sat back down, heart beating just a little too fast for something so simple.
She hated standing up in class. Not because she was scared—but because when everyone looked at her, she felt like they could see through her. Like they might notice the tightness in her chest, or the way her fingers trembled slightly before she forced them still.
She kept her gaze low for the rest of the period.
When the final bell rang, chairs screeched and bags were slung over shoulders. Students poured out of the classroom in loud groups, already talking about plans, food, and weekends.
Feifei packed her bag quietly.
"Feifei!"
She paused and looked up.
A girl from her class waved at her. "You're not joining us?"
Feifei smiled, the same polite smile she had perfected over the years. "I have to go home."
"Oh. Okay," the girl said, already turning away.
That was always how it went.
No one insisted.
No one asked why.
No one noticed when she walked alone.
The walk home was familiar—dusty roads, passing shops, the smell of fried food hanging in the air. People laughed, argued, lived loudly around her. Feifei moved through it all quietly, like she was observing life instead of participating in it.
By the time she reached her house, her shoulders already ached with exhaustion that sleep never fixed.
The gate creaked as she pushed it open.
"I'm home," she called softly.
No answer.
She dropped her bag by the door and stepped inside. The living room was empty. The television was on, volume low, playing a show no one was watching. Plates sat in the sink from earlier.
Feifei sighed and rolled up her sleeves.
She washed the plates, swept the floor, and reheated food for herself. She ate alone at the small dining table, chewing slowly, barely tasting anything.
Her phone buzzed once.
A message notification.
She glanced at it, then turned the phone face down.
Some days, it felt easier not to read messages at all. Expectations were heavy things.
After eating, she retreated to her room.
It was small but neat. Books lined one side of the wall. A single mirror hung beside the wardrobe. Feifei stood in front of it, staring at her reflection.
Her face was calm. Too calm.
She raised her hand and touched her chest lightly, right where the ache always sat.
Why do I feel like this?
She didn't have a clear answer. Just a quiet heaviness that followed her everywhere, settling deeper each day.
Feifei sat on her bed and opened her notebook. The pages were filled with neat handwriting—notes, quotes, half-finished thoughts she never showed anyone.
She flipped to a blank page.
For a long moment, she just stared at it.
Then she wrote:
I don't know when I started feeling invisible.
But I know I'm tired of pretending it doesn't hurt.
Her pen hovered.
She wanted to write more. To pour everything out. The loneliness. The pressure. The constant feeling that she had to be strong because no one else would carry her weight.
But the words wouldn't come.
Instead, she closed the notebook and lay back, staring at the ceiling.
The room was quiet. Too quiet.
Her chest tightened, breath coming slightly faster now. She pressed her lips together, forcing herself to breathe slowly.
You're fine, she told herself.
You're always fine.
She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow close. Outside, laughter echoed faintly from the street. Life going on without her.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye before she could stop it.
She wiped it away quickly, annoyed at herself.
Crying changed nothing.
Feifei closed her eyes, unaware that this calm, silent life she clung to so tightly was already beginning to crack.
And somewhere—not far away—someone new was about to notice the girl who never complained.