Chapter 1
Yoon Sa-rin woke to the shrill sound of her mother's voice, sharp and piercing.
"Get up! You'll be late for school again!"
Her eyes flickered open. The room smelled faintly of dust and damp wood. She rubbed her cheek against her thin pillow and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was icy under her bare feet, sending a shiver up her spine. Sunlight streamed through the cracked window, but it did little to warm the chill in her small body.
Her father's voice followed, rough and impatient:
"Stop dawdling, Sa-rin! Do you think the world will wait for you?"
She flinched at the sharpness in his tone. Her chest tightened. Every word from her parents felt like a weight pressing down on her shoulders. They weren't cruel in the monstrous sense, but their love always came with conditions. One mistake and scolding followed; one tiny success, and it was barely acknowledged. Every day felt like walking a tightrope, careful not to fall.
She dressed quickly, fumbling with buttons and zippers. A glass of water slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. Her father's voice boomed immediately.
"Do you even have eyes, girl? Watch what you're doing!"
Her mother added a sharp glance, slicing through her small frame like ice.
"And hurry! Or you'll be late. Again!"
Sa-rin swallowed hard. Her throat was dry, her stomach knotting. She wanted to disappear, to melt into the walls and escape their judgment, but she forced herself toward the door, head down, heart racing.
School offered no respite. Teachers scolded her for speaking too softly. Classmates sneered at her timid ways. Every day, the weight of her parents' expectations followed her like a shadow, constant and heavy.
Yet, even in the harshest moments, Sa-rin found little sparks of life. A neighbor's fleeting smile. The taste of a bread roll she had stolen when no one was watching. The comfort of curling up with a worn book under the covers, losing herself in stories where she was brave and free. These small things became her secret treasures.
At night, lying in her narrow bed, she traced the cracks in the ceiling with her eyes and imagined a different world—one where she could speak freely, laugh without fear, and make mistakes without punishment. Though she was small, there was a fire growing inside her. Every scolding, every harsh word, added to a quiet resolve: one day, she would not just survive. She would thrive.
That evening, after being scolded again for moving too slowly, Sa-rin crept into the garden. The air was cold, biting at her fingertips as she dug into the soil. She planted a tiny seed she had saved from scraps—a fragile, almost insignificant thing.
She pressed her fingers against the damp earth, whispering softly:
"I will grow. No matter what."
The sprout trembled in the night wind. It was small and weak, yet it persisted. And as she stared at it, something shifted inside her. Maybe she couldn't change her parents' hearts or the harshness of the world, but she could nurture herself, piece by piece, just like this fragile little plant.
Pain. Fear. Frustration. Hunger. And yet… hope.
For the first time, she felt it: a spark in her chest. Small, quiet, but persistent. A promise to herself.
She would survive. She would endure. She would bloom.
And perhaps, one day, the world would finally see her.