Opening Line: Home never asked how she was; it only demanded why she wasn't enough.
Questions came dressed as concern, but they were heavier than she could bear.
"So what are you doing now?"
"What's your plan?"
"Do you even know what you want?"
She answered with shrugs, with short, careful words. Explaining herself felt like yelling into a storm—futile, drowned out by expectations she could not meet. The house seemed smaller now, the walls tighter. Each room whispered reminders of who she was supposed to be. Each glance, each sigh, carried judgment.
"You're just being lazy," someone said once, as if it was a fact that didn't require discussion. She didn't argue. Arguing required energy she didn't have, and besides, some voices aren't meant to be argued with—they're meant to be felt, digested, and then quietly resisted.
At night, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The house was still, but the thoughts were loud. Every failure, every expectation unmet, every past mistake swirled inside her head like a storm. And yet, somewhere in that storm, she discovered clarity. Staying in school would have destroyed her. Leaving hadn't solved everything, but it had given her something she hadn't realized she needed: choice.
She began waking early, savoring the quiet before anyone else stirred. She made tea, watched sunlight pour through the windows, and imagined herself existing in a world where she didn't have to shrink for comfort, didn't have to apologize for needing space. Every sip, every ray of light, was a tiny act of rebellion. A reminder that she belonged to herself first.
Author's Thoughts: Sometimes the heaviest weight is invisible. It's not yelling, not punishment, not threats—it's the quiet, persistent pressure of expectation. And yet, surviving it, quietly and gently, is the strongest kind of courage there is. Choosing yourself, even when no one applauds, is revolutionary.
By the time night fell, the house was the same, heavy and silent, but she felt something different inside herself—a flicker of hope, a whisper of defiance. She made a promise in the dark: I will not disappear to make others comfortable. That promise was tiny, almost imperceptible, but it was enough to keep her moving forward.