Morning arrived quietly.
The kind of quiet that usually made people uncomfortable.
But for me, silence had always been a familiar language. It never demanded anything. It never asked me to explain myself. It simply existed.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of my cream sweater while watching the girl staring back at me.
She looked different.
Not because my face had changed. Not because my eyes had softened.
Because she looked almost normal.
A strange thought crossed my mind.
Maybe this was what everyone had wanted from me all along.
A daughter who smiled when spoken to. A girl who sat at breakfast without making the room feel like a courtroom. Someone who could laugh without making people wonder if there was a hidden meaning behind it.
Maybe happiness was not as complicated as people made it seem.
I was trying, really trying, to just exist like everyone else. The past was a chaotic blur, a fever dream I had firmly moved past. I wanted to believe I had changed, that the normalcy I was mimicking was finally becoming real.
I smiled slightly at my reflection.
It felt almost convincing.
Almost.
When I walked downstairs, the house seemed brighter than usual.
My mother was standing in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. The moment she saw me, her expression changed.
Not fear.
Not suspicion.
Relief.
That was the interesting part about humans. They did not always need the truth. Sometimes they only needed something that looked like the truth.
"Good morning, Lune."
"Good morning, Mom."
The words felt unfamiliar.
Not because I had forgotten them.
Because I had not used them with sincerity in a very long time.
I walked towards her and wrapped my arms around her, burying my face into her shoulder.
For a moment, she froze.
Her hands hovered awkwardly before slowly returning the hug.
"Oh my God," she whispered softly.
I pulled away and looked at her.
"What?"
"Nothing." Her eyes became slightly glassy. "It's just... I missed this."
I tilted my head.
"This?"
"You being close. You letting me be your mother."
A strange feeling moved through me.
Not guilt.
Not sadness.
Something much quieter.
I wondered how long a person could starve before a single piece of affection felt like a feast.
"I'm sorry," I said.
Her eyes widened slightly.
"You don't have to apologize, sweetheart."
I gave her a small smile.
Of course she would say that.
People always forgave what they desperately wanted to believe had changed.
We sat down for breakfast.
The chair beside me remained empty.
I looked at it for a second.
"Where is Dad?"
My mother paused while serving herself.
"He's out."
"Out?"
"With a friend."
The fork in my hand stopped moving.
A friend.
Such a simple word.
Such a harmless little disguise.
My fingers tightened around the golden fork.
deliberately, I brought the prongs down onto the wooden surface of the table. I pressed down, digging the sharp metal into the varnish with a slow, agonizing pressure, drag-scratching it against the wood over and over in a tiny, aggressive rhythm.
Inside my mind, I spoke to someone who was not there.
"A friend."
Interesting choice of words.
I know exactly who that "friend" is.
I know the conversations. The excuses. The little performances people create when they believe nobody is watching.
Humans are fascinating.
They build entire worlds out of lies and then become offended when someone notices the cracks.
Does she really think I don't know? How beautifully oblivious she chooses to be.
"Lune? Is everything okay?" my mother asked, looking over at the strange scratching sound.
I immediately stopped, lifting the fork and flashing her a flawless, serene smile. "Perfectly fine, Mom."
I did not say anything else.
There was no reason to.
Some truths were much more entertaining when they remained silent.
After breakfast, I left for college.
The moment I entered the classroom, I saw him.
Marcos.
Six months.
Six months of unanswered messages.
Six months of watching someone knock on a door I had no intention of opening.
And yet, when I walked towards him, I acted as if nothing had happened.
"Hey."
His head immediately turned.
The surprise on his face was almost impossible to hide.
"Lune?"
I sat beside him.
"How are you?"
For a few seconds, he only stared.
"I'm... good."
A small silence formed.
Awkward.
Uncomfortable.
Human.
"I saw a documentary yesterday," I said.
His eyebrows lifted.
"You did?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
Another silence.
I looked at him.
"You still hate historical films with inaccurate timelines?"
"What?"
I blinked.
"I asked if you still hate historical films with inaccurate timelines."
His expression changed.
"What? What did you say?" he asked, blinking as if trying to process my sudden presence.
Inside my skull, a wave of profound disgust rolled over me. Ah, these insufferable, fragile humans, I thought, my internal voice dripping with venom. Why do they always pretend to be hard of hearing? They aren't deaf. They are simply desperate, attention-chasing creatures trying to force an extension on a conversation they don't deserve to have. It is a pathetic, deeply hardwired human flaw.
I didn't repeat myself. Instead, I turned my head slowly and locked my eyes onto his. I stared at him, my pupils dilated, my expression utterly devoid of warmth, standard blinking completely forgotten. It was a heavy, suffocating gaze that promised violence without moving a muscle.
Marcos visibly swallowed, his skin turning a shade paler. "Oh," he stammered, pulling himself together quickly. "Oh, no no i don't hate them anymore"
Marcos shifted uncomfortably.
"Sorry. I just wasn't expecting you to talk to me."
"Why?"
He looked away.
"Because you disappeared."
The honesty almost made me smile.
Almost.
"I see."
Before he could reply, the professor entered.
Everyone quickly settled down.
The lecture began, but I barely heard anything.
My phone remained in my hand.
A notification appeared.
Asher.
I opened it.
Asher: I have been thinking.
A second message appeared.
Asher: I think we should get engaged first.
I stared at the words.
Engaged.
Another notification.
Asher: When you're older, we can get married.
Another one.
Asher: But I want to marry you already.
My thoughts stopped.
Then started again.
Marriage or engagement.
Marriage or engagement.
Marriage or engagement.
The words repeated inside my head like a song that refused to end.
A promise.
A chain.
A choice.
I looked at the screen.
Asher: Lune?
Asher: Where did you go?
My fingers moved.
I typed.
I don't know. Depends on how long it takes you to make me fall for you again.
His reply came instantly.
Asher: You mean...
Asher: You falling for me?
Another message.
Asher: My eyes just got blessed by reading that.
I saw the notification.
I did not open the chat.
I did not reply.
Some reactions were more valuable when they were left unanswered.
"Do not use phones in my class."
The professor's voice cut through the room.
I didn't look up.
He was not talking to me.
A girl from another seat immediately stood up. Her finger pointing sharply in my direction. "But Professor! Lune has been using her phone for the past thirty minutes! Why aren't you saying anything to her?!"
Before the professor could speak, Marcos abruptly stood up beside me, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "She isn't using it. Stop lying just because you got caught."
The professor slammed his textbook onto the podium. "Stop it, both of you. Lune is a gifted student who consistently earns the highest marks in this department. It does not matter what she does in my class. Speak to me about her behavior only when you have managed to elevate yourself to her academic level." He turned his eyes toward me, offering a nod of validation.
A few students looked at me.
I tilted my head, looking up at the professor, and let a strange, unsettling smile spread across my face. It was too wide, completely unbothered by the social tension, my eyes remaining entirely dead and unblinking while the corners of my mouth curled upwards into a grotesque mask of compliance. The professor quickly averted his gaze, clearing his throat to resume the lesson.
The class eventually ended.
During break, Marcos stood, his anxiety still palpable. "
"I'll get you coffee."
Before I could answer, he left.
As soon as he left, the lecture hall erupted into the chaotic noise of student chatter. But to me, the room fell into an absolute, deafening silence. The world muted itself. I shifted in my seat, pulling my legs up onto the chair and wrapping my arms around my knees, sitting in a perfectly still, statue-like crouch that felt entirely natural to me, yet entirely unnatural for the setting.
I turned my head toward the blank concrete wall beside my desk.
"Marriage or engagement?" I whispered to the empty surface, my voice a rhythmic, chilling purr. "What do you think? Which one will be better? Will he actually make me fall for him the same way he did in the past? And if he does... what should I do then? Marriage... or engagement?"
"Who are you talking to, Lune?"
The sharp voice broke my trance. Marcos had returned, holding two cups of coffee, with Melisa standing right behind him.
Melisa blinked, looking around the empty space around my desk. "Was there someone else here?"
"No one, obviously," I replied, my voice dropping back into its flat, ordinary cadence.
Marcos stared at me, his eyes wide with a growing sense of dread. "Are you seriously... talking to a wall?"
I offered no explanation. I simply reached out, my fingers wrapping around the coffee cup in his hand, pulling it from his grasp making an eye contact.
MARCOS POV:
What the hell was she just doing?
My heart was hammering against my ribs as I watched Lune sip the coffee I had just handed her. First, it was the incident a few weeks ago with the cat, and now she was literally having a full, whispered conversation with a blank concrete wall. Why is she like this? I love her. I really, truly do. But she is terrifying sometimes. No, not just sometimes. Most of the time. There was an emptiness in her eyes that made my blood run cold, yet I couldn't pull myself away.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly hid it under the desk and typed a frantic message to Melisa, who was now walking toward the exit of the hall.
Marcos: Was she always like this? So mysterious and... strange?
A few moments later, my phone buzzed.
Melisa: Yeah. There are so many things about her that you don't know. Things that only I can truly understand.
Marcos: Can you please tell me? I need to understand her.
Melisa: Alright. Meet me someday alone. Just the two of us, and I'll tell you everything.
Marcos: Thanks.
I shoved the phone back into my pocket, a heavy weight settling into my stomach. What secrets was Melisa hiding about her? What was Lune hiding? Every time I thought I was getting closer to her, the chasm between us only widened. She was a puzzle with missing pieces, and I was terrified of what the final image would look like.
The dismissal bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Lune stood up smoothly, adjusting her bag, and began walking toward the main exit. I quickly fell into step beside her.
We walked down the long, crowded corridor in absolute silence. Lune didn't look at me once. She stared straight ahead, her face completely expressionless, like a porcelain doll operating on a mechanical track. I couldn't help but stare at her profile. Even in her coldness, she was breathtaking. I found myself admiring the sharp line of her jaw, desperately trying to calculate her next move, trying to decode the enigma walking next to me.
Suddenly, a bright, radiant smile broke across Lune's face.
My breath caught in my throat. And now she's smiling, I thought, completely bewildered. She's so unpredictable. It's the first time I've seen her smile like that. I wonder what lucky thing could have possibly made her look that happy.
"Lune!"
A voice cut through the crowd. A tall, striking guy stepped into the corridor, blocking our path. Asher.
"I came to pick you up," he said, a confident grin on his face.
"Yeah, I can see that," Lune replied, her voice lighter than I had heard it in days.
I stood frozen, completely stunned. My chest tightened as a wave of shock washed over me. What was happening here? Since when did he pick her up? Are they dating? None of this made any sense.
But the next moment broke something inside me.
Lune reached out, her delicate fingers sliding effortlessly into Asher's hand, intertwining with his like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I froze.
Because I remembered.
I remembered the first time I tried to comfort her. The way she had been sitting there, looking completely broken but refusing to let anyone see it. I had only reached out to wipe her tears, just wanting her to know she wasn't alone.
And she immediately stopped me.
Not gently. Not hesitantly.
Like my touch was something she needed to escape from.
She had looked at me as if I had crossed a line I didn't even know existed.
So what was different now?
What was so special about Asher that made her allow him to stand this close? To hold her hand? To touch the parts of her that everyone else had been warned to stay away from?
I stared at their intertwined fingers, trying to find an answer hidden somewhere between them.
What did he have that I didn't?
Why did she let him in when she had spent so long keeping everyone else outside?
She began to walk away with him, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the crowded hallway.
After taking a few steps down the corridor, Lune abruptly stopped.
Slowly, she turned her head back over her shoulder to look at me. The bright, radiant expression she had given Asher was gone. Instead, she offered me a final smile. It wasn't a cute, parting gesture. Her lips curved upward in a sharp, unnatural stretch that reached all the way to her ears, while her eyes remained wide, completely hollow, and devoid of a single speck of human warmth. It was a cold, calculating look of absolute dominance... a silent, mocking farewell that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up in pure and unadulterated terror.