The front door creaked as it closed, cutting off the muffled sounds of the street.
But inside the house, another sound took over — sharper, far too familiar.
Screaming.
It came from the living room, voices clashing like blades.
Her father's rough, booming voice, her mother's sharp, weary reply.
Words that had long lost meaning for Seina: useless, shame, money, no future.
She stopped in the hallway, her body heavy — not just from fatigue but from the weight that always hung in the air here.
She took a deep breath, trying to hold on to the last bit of warmth from the afternoon sun, from the good moments with Thalya, from the fragile spark of understanding they had shared.
But her mother's voice reached her first, cutting through her like a shard of glass:
"Where were you? The school called! You've been skipping again?"
Seina didn't even get the chance to answer.
Her father appeared in the doorway, his face flushed with the kind of anger that always seemed ready to erupt.
"Don't bother asking her. She never has an answer for anything. Just knows how to waste money and disappear."
"I just…" Seina's voice came out faint, but it was already too late.
"Shut your mouth!" he barked, stepping forward, arm raised — not to strike her, but to grab her by the arm with a grip she knew all too well.
Then her mother stepped in, grabbing his wrist with a firm, unexpected hand.
"Don't touch her."
The father turned to her, more stunned than furious.
"Now you're defending her? This is why she's useless! You've always spoiled her!"
"I'm not defending her, I'm stopping you from doing something you'll regret!"
The fight turned back on them, as it always did.
Seina was no longer the subject — only the spark that lit the fire.
Accusations flew higher, dragging up the past, the bills, the disappointments — everything colliding in a storm that had no end.
And Seina… Seina just stood there, frozen, until her legs carried her away on their own.
She climbed the stairs slowly, each step heavier than the last.
The yelling faded behind her, muffled but still there, humming like a curse in the walls.
Her room waited for her. Dark. Silent.
She locked the door and let herself slide down to the floor, her back against the wood.
The darkness was cold — but it hurt less than the words.
Then her phone buzzed.
A notification.
Thalya: Good night, Seina. Thank you for today.
She read it once. Twice. Three times.
Something warm and aching bloomed in her chest.
That small, kind message felt like a spotlight on everything missing in this house, in this life.
Tears she hadn't even felt welling up began to fall, soundless.
She wasn't crying because of the fight.
She cried because someone had remembered she existed — and wished her good night.
In the dark, her face lit only by the glow of her screen, she opened her gallery and found what she was looking for:
an old video, from a time that felt like another life.
She pressed "play."
And the past answered.
Nine years ago.
The image shook.
A younger woman, with the same tired eyes as Seina but a wide smile, held the camera.
"Come on, sweetheart! Show Grandma how you dance!"
The camera turned.
A little girl, about nine, with dark hair and pink ribbons, twirled awkwardly in the living room, laughing.
A man scooped her up and spun her around, making her shriek with delight.
"Daddy! Stop!" the young Seina giggled, though she didn't really want him to.
The video ended.
The screen went black, reflecting her tear-streaked face.
The silence in the room was now deafening.
The people in that video were gone.
Not dead — but dead to each other.
Love had turned to dust, and the dust to poison.
She looked again at Thalya's message: "Thank you for today."
And then the question came, not as a thought, but as a whisper from her lonely heart:
'What was Thalya's family like… before everything fell apart?'