[Ren]
There Was A Time I Used To Speak First. Laugh The Loudest. Run Ahead Of Everyone Without Looking Back.
Back Then, The World Felt Endless. Streets Looked Wider, Evenings Brighter, And Every Small Thing Carried A Story. I Used To Come Home With Dirt On My Elbows, Shoes Untied, And My Pockets Stuffed With Pebbles I Thought Were Treasures.
Mom Would Sigh Seeing The Mess, But Her Smile Always Gave Me Away. Dad Would Ruffle My Hair, Pretending To Scold Me For Dirtying My Clothes, But He'd Still Ask, "Had Fun?"
And I Always Did.
I Remember Running Around With Vicky Near The Old Park. The Slides Were Rusted, And The Swings Screeched When We Pushed Each Other Too High. We'd Argue About Who Could Jump Farther From The Swing's Peak, And Somehow, I Always Ended Up With Scratches But Still Claimed Victory.
Back Then, I Thought The World Would Always Stay That Simple.
But Somewhere Along The Line, It Didn't.
It Never Happens In One Day. The Change Comes Quietly — Like Mist Slipping Through Cracks, Filling Every Space Until You Can't Remember What It Felt Like To Breathe Without It.
The Same Voice That Once Filled Rooms Started Sounding Out Of Place. The Same Jokes That Made People Laugh Became Awkward Silences. The Same Stories I Used To Tell Were Met With Polite Nods That Felt... Distant.
No One Told Me To Stop Being Myself.
They Just Stopped Listening.
So I Started Speaking Less.
Not Because I Was Afraid — But Because It Was Easier.
Easier To Stay Quiet Than To Watch Expressions Turn Into Forced Smiles. Easier To Pretend I Didn't Have Anything To Say Than To Feel Like My Words Didn't Matter.
And When I Stopped Talking, No One Asked Why.
Except Mom Sometimes. She'd Leave My Favorite Snack On The Table Without Saying A Word. Dad Would Wait By The Door A Little Longer Before Turning Off The Light. They Never Pushed. Never Asked Directly.
Just Small Things. Quiet Things.
They Thought I'd Come Around On My Own.
And Maybe I Thought So Too.
But The Thing About Silence Is — Once You Get Used To It, It Starts Feeling Safer Than Noise.
By Middle School, I Was Already Good At Pretending. I Knew When To Nod, When To Smile, When To Laugh Just Enough To Blend In. I Was Present But Never Fully There.
And Then There Were Moments That Made It Worse — Tiny, Forgettable Things To Everyone Else.
Like That One Lunch Break.
A Girl Forgot Her Lunchbox And Sat There, Trying To Act Like She Wasn't Hungry. I Remember Looking At My Food, Then At Her, And Splitting Mine In Half Without Thinking.
She Looked Up, Surprised, Then Smiled. "Thank You," She Said.
The Next Day, She Was Sitting With Her Friends Again. Laughing Like Nothing Happened.
And Somehow, That Hurt.
It Shouldn't Have, But It Did.
After That, I Stopped Offering.
Not Just Food. But Parts Of Myself Too.
I Learned How To Stay On The Edges Of Conversations. How To Be Included But Not Involved. I Still Had Vicky And Mahito, And They Stayed Even When I Drifted. They Never Forced Me To Talk — Just Pulled Me Along When I Forgot How To Keep Up.
Still, Something In Me Quietly Kept Fading.
Sometimes, I'd Look At My Reflection After School And Think, When Did I Start Looking So Still?
Not Sad. Just... Dull.
Like The Spark I Used To Have Got Replaced By A Kind Of Calm That Didn't Belong To Me.
I'd Scroll Through Old Photos Sometimes. See That Boy Covered In Dust And Smiles. The One Who Laughed Without Wondering If It Was Okay To. The One Who Believed The World Would Always Be Kind.
Sometimes I Recognize Him.
Other Times, He Feels Like A Stranger.
And On Those Days, I Wonder — If Someone Had Noticed Earlier, Would I Have Stayed That Way?
Or Maybe I Was Always Meant To Fade.
Because Silence Can Become A Home, Even When It Hurts.
And Somewhere In Between Growing Up And Growing Quiet, I Forgot What It Felt Like To Be Heard.
—
[Miyu]
People Always Think I Was Born Like This — Calm, Composed, Always Put Together. As If Perfection Was Something That Came Naturally To Me.
Maybe I Thought So Too Once.
Because Every Time I Got Something Right, People Smiled. Teachers Praised Me. My Parents Said They Were Proud.
And It Felt Good.
Warm. Safe.
So I Kept Going.
One Perfect Test After Another. One Compliment After Another. Until It Stopped Feeling Like I Was Trying — And Started Feeling Like I Was Performing.
By Middle School, The Applause Had Become My Routine. But Along With It Came A Quiet Fear I Couldn't Name.
Because When Everyone Expects You To Be Perfect, What Happens When You're Not?
I Remember Once, I Came Second In A Competition. Only Second.
No One Said Anything Harsh. But The Silence At Dinner That Night Felt Heavy. Like Everyone Was Trying Not To Say The Same Thing Out Loud.
I Smiled. Said I'd Try Harder Next Time.
But Later That Night, I Didn't Eat. Didn't Cry Either. Just Sat By The Window, Looking At My Trophy Shelf, Feeling Like It Was Staring Back At Me.
And I Told Myself, Never Again.
Since Then, I Made Sure I Never Slipped. I Studied Harder. Smiled Better. Learned How To Make People Think I Was Effortless.
Even My Parents Couldn't Tell When I Was Tired. They'd Say, "You Don't Have To Push Yourself Too Much," And I'd Nod, Pretending To Believe Them.
But I Couldn't Stop.
Because If I Did... Who Would I Be Without The Praise?
My Little Sister, Yui, Used To Tease Me. "You're Too Perfect," She'd Say, Laughing.
And I'd Laugh Too. Because That's What A "Perfect Sister" Was Supposed To Do.
But Sometimes, When She'd Run Around Carelessly, Falling And Laughing Without A Care In The World — I'd Feel Something Twist Inside Me.
Jealousy, Maybe. Or Just... Longing.
For A Time When I Didn't Have To Be Perfect To Be Loved.
At School, Everyone Thought I Was Confident. Reliable. Calm. But Inside, I Was Just Trying To Keep Everything From Cracking.
Because I Knew What Would Happen If It Did.
People Would Look Confused. Disappointed. Maybe Even Pity Me.
And That's Worse Than Anything.
So I Kept Being The Girl Everyone Expected Me To Be. Even When I Started Forgetting What I Wanted.
Even When I Started Forgetting Who That Girl Actually Was.
Sometimes I Think About Failing On Purpose. Just Once.
To See What Would Happen.
Would The World Fall Apart? Would My Parents Still Smile? Would Anyone Ask If I Was Okay — And Mean It?
But I Never Did.
Because Deep Down, I Was Afraid Of What Silence Would Follow.
The Same Silence That Once Felt Gentle Would Turn Cold. And I Don't Think I Could Bear That.
So I Kept Going.
One Smile After Another. One Achievement After Another. Until I Couldn't Tell If The Person In The Mirror Was Me Or Just... A Version Of Me The World Needed.
And Sometimes, When I Look At My Reflection Too Long, I Wonder —
If I Let Go, Would Anyone Notice?
Or Would I Just Disappear Quietly, Like A Perfect Line Erased Without A Sound?
—
Ren Learned To Disappear.
Miyu Learned To Perform.
Two Different Roads,
But Both Leading To The Same Kind Of Silence.
The Kind That Doesn't Hurt Loudly —
It Just Grows Quietly, Until You Forget What Your Own Voice Sounds Like.
They Never Met Back Then.
They Lived Separate Lives.
Different Homes. Different Masks.
But Somewhere, Maybe Under The Same Evening Sky,
They Both Looked Out Their Windows And Thought The Same Thing —
When Did I Become Like This?
—
We Rarely Hear The Quiet Parts Of People.
Not Because They're Small — But Because They're Hidden Beneath The Noise Of Who They're Supposed To Be.
Ren's Silence Came From Absence.
Miyu's From Expectation.
One Faded Away. The Other Burned In.
They Didn't Cry Out For Help.
They Just Learned To Live With The Ache —
To Carry It Gently, So No One Would See It Tremble.
And Maybe That's Why, When They Finally Met,
Something Softened.
Not Because They Saved Each Other.
But Because, For The First Time,
They Didn't Have To Pretend.
They Didn't Ask Each Other To Be Anything Else.
They Simply Existed.
And In That Existence,
Something Began To Heal —
Quietly. Gently. Naturally.
In The Unspoken.
In The Noticed Silences.
In The Quiet Part Of Us.
— × —
To Be Continued....