The quiet stretched on, the night wrapping around them like a heavy blanket. She could still feel the warmth of Kai's hand under her fingertips, even though she hadn't held it fully. Just the smallest touch. Enough to tether her to the moment.
For a long time, she thought about staying silent. That's what she always did—bury it, swallow it, pretend it wasn't there. But his words, his raw honesty about his sister, had cracked something in her.
"Kai," she whispered, her voice trembling.
He glanced at her, the storm in his eyes quiet now, waiting.
She hugged her knees tighter, nails digging into the fabric of her jeans. "You said pretending is lonely. And you're right. It is. But… for me, it's not just loneliness. It's survival."
He didn't speak. He didn't push. He just listened.
Her throat burned, but the words kept tumbling out. "If I don't smile, they notice. If I don't laugh, they ask questions. And when they notice, when they see me…" Her voice cracked, tears stinging her eyes. "They turn it into a joke. They tear me apart. They make me feel like I'm nothing."
The confession hung heavy between them, raw and jagged. She turned her face away, ashamed of the tears slipping down her cheek.
But then—warmth. Kai's hand, gentle, brushing a tear away just like he had in the hallway. His touch was soft, steady, not demanding. Just there.
"You're not nothing," he said quietly, his voice rough but certain. "They just can't handle what they don't understand."
Her chest ached, the words slicing through years of silence. Nobody had ever said that to her. Nobody had ever told her she was more than the whispers, the laughter, the fake smiles.
She wanted to believe him. God, she wanted to.
But all she could manage was a broken, shaky whisper. "Then why does it still feel like they're right?"
Kai's hand lingered on her cheek for just a second longer before he pulled it back, curling it into his lap. He looked away, his jaw tight, like he was fighting his own ghosts again.
"Because when enough people tell you a lie," he said, voice low, "you start to think it's the truth." His gaze flicked back to hers, steady and piercing. "But it's not. It never was."
And for the first time, she let herself believe—just a little—that maybe he was right.