The first crack in Lune's home was quiet.
It didn't start with shouting.
It didn't start with tears.
It started with Devid coming home late.
At first, her mother whispered, "He must be tired… poor boy."
Her father said nothing, only rubbing his temples after long days of labor.
Dean continued living in his own orbit, planning a future Lune didn't fully understand yet.
But gradually, late nights turned into drunken footsteps.
Whispers turned into arguments.
And arguments turned into the kind of silence Lune feared the most—the silence that felt like something heavy was waiting to explode.
Devid had fallen into bad company. Drinking. Gambling. Losing money he never had.
He came home smelling like smoke and regret.
"Devid, this can't go on."
Her mother's voice trembled one night.
"You have debts… and your wife is worried sick. What are you doing to yourself?"
Devid snapped back,
"I'll fix it. Don't start lecturing me."
Her mother silently took out her savings—money she had collected coin by coin, rupee by rupee—and used it to clear his debts.
Just like that.
Years of sacrifice gone.
Her father stared at the floor as if he had failed everyone.
Lune watched from the dimly lit corner, her eyes burning but dry.
She didn't understand everything, but she understood enough—
The family wasn't the same anymore.
---
Distance Comes Quietly Before It Arrives Loudly
Dean was busy with his own marriage preparations. He smiled less, grew quieter, spoke carefully—as if he was balancing too many things in his mind at once.
Lune felt him slipping away, inch by inch.
Her middle sister-in-law, once warm and soft-spoken, fell ill. And again, her mother opened her savings box. Again, she helped. Because that is what mothers do—they bleed so everyone else can breathe.
And Devid…
He didn't get better.
He got worse.
The house was no longer a home.
It was a battlefield with old walls and fresh wounds.
Lune watched her mother age faster. Her father became silent, carrying invisible weight. The brothers drifted further into their own storms.
She became invisible in her own house.
Nobody asked her how school was.
Nobody noticed when she stopped smiling.
Nobody knew she cried quietly into her pillow at night.
"I'm strong," she would whisper to herself.
"I have to be strong."
But she was only thirteen.
Thirteen… and already feeling like the adult in a house full of children pretending to be grown.
---
The Festival That Didn't Feel Like a Festival
It was supposed to be a joyful day. A festival full of lights and blessings.
But instead, Lune stood against a wall, watching her family tearing itself apart over money.
Her parents begged.
Her brothers argued.
Voices rose until the neighbors closed their windows.
And Lune?
She shrunk smaller and smaller, wishing she could disappear into the cracks of the old house.
"I don't need anything," she whispered.
"I don't want anything. I just want peace."
But peace was not an option.
---
Running Without Legs Moving
She began going to school early just to escape the house.
She stayed out longer, sitting alone on a park bench watching strangers pass by.
At least strangers didn't hurt her.
The bench became her only refuge.
Her only safe place.
She didn't hate her parents.
She loved them too much to hate them.
But she was angry.
Angry that they were drowning, and she didn't know how to save them.
Angry that no one asked if she was okay.
Angry that she was growing up inside a storm she never caused.
---
Forgiveness Without Healing
One evening, after weeks of chaos, Devid came home and apologized.
"Mom, Dad… I made mistakes. I was wrong. Please forgive me."
And they forgave him.
Because they always did.
But something inside the house had already changed.
Something inside Lune had changed too.
Forgiveness didn't erase everything she'd seen.
Everything she felt.
Everything she was forced to carry alone.
Her parents were busy fixing her brothers' lives.
Her brothers were busy fixing their own mistakes.
And Lune?
She was just a shadow in the corner—quiet, slim, soft-featured, long-haired Lune.
Invisible Lune.
She whispered to herself one night, holding her Grade 7 books tightly:
"I don't know when, but someday… I will leave and find a place where I can breathe."
She didn't know where that place was.
She didn't know what it looked like.
She only knew it wasn't here.
Not anymore.