The morning sun spilt through the thin curtains, casting a harsh glow across the small, cluttered apartment. Isabella stirred on the couch where she had slept after Mia had driven her home the previous night. The warmth of Mia's embrace was gone, replaced by the suffocating familiarity of her home...the stale smell of old cooking, the faint dampness in the corners, and the ever-present tension in the air.
Her father was nowhere to be seen. The apartment was silent, except for the occasional creak of the building settling and the soft, shallow breaths of her mother, who sat slumped at the kitchen table. She looked smaller than usual, face pale, eyes hollow from another sleepless night. Isabella's chest tightened. She wanted to comfort her mother, to tell her that everything would be okay but the truth was, she didn't even know if she believed it herself.
After a quick, meagre breakfast of day-old bread and a half-empty carton of milk, Isabella decided to go out. She needed anything to distract herself from the oppressive weight of the apartment. She grabbed her worn backpack and slipped on her sneakers, already frayed at the seams. Her reflection in the chipped mirror made her wince; her hair tangled and greasy, clothes wrinkled and stained from the night's tears. She looked like a ghost of herself, fragile and unkempt.
The streets were bright now, the city alive with movement. Cars honked, vendors shouted, and the aroma of fried food from a nearby stall made her stomach growl. Isabella kept her eyes down, head bowed, trying not to draw attention to herself. Every step reminded her of last night...the fear, the pain, the helplessness.
She arrived at the small convenience store she sometimes visited when she needed food or supplies. The bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside, but instead of the usual polite greeting, the clerk's eyes narrowed immediately.
"You… you're Isabella, right?" a middle-aged woman asked, frowning. Her voice held a strange mixture of irritation and disbelief. "Where have you been? You haven't come by in weeks."
Isabella's throat tightened. "I… I—" she started, her voice small and shaky.
The clerk's eyes swept over her from head to toe, and Isabella felt herself shrink under the scrutiny. She knew how she looked...hair messy, clothes wrinkled, eyes red from crying but hearing it silently judged aloud made her feel exposed.
"You can't be in here like this," the clerk said sharply. "You look… untidy. We don't serve people who—" She stopped herself, but the meaning was clear. Isabella's face burned with shame and humiliation.
"I… I just needed—" Isabella tried again, voice trembling.
"Not today," the clerk interrupted, turning her back. "Come back when you can… take care of yourself, alright?"
Isabella's chest tightened, her fingers gripping the straps of her backpack so hard her knuckles turned white. She stumblebackwardsrd, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. The warmth of Mia's house, the fleeting comfort of last night, felt like a distant memory. Rejection hit her like a physical blow—harsh, cold, and merciless.
Outside, the sun seemed unbearably bright, mocking her. She wandered aimlessly down the street, every passerby a potential observer, every glance a judgment. Her stomach ached, hunger gnawing at her, but she couldn't even bring herself to enter another store. The city felt vast and indifferent, the streets too loud and too full of people who didn't care about her suffering.
She pressed herself against the curb, trying to become invisible, wishing the world would let her vanish. Tears rolled down her cheeks, stinging, as she whispered to herself: "I can't… I can't even… do anything right."
Isabella's backpack felt impossibly heavy, weighted down not just by her belongings, but by the burden of her life. Her father had no job. No stability, no plan, only anger and violence. Her mother was trapped by fear, unable to protect her. And now, even the outside world..places she had hoped would be neutral..rejected her.
The thought made her shiver, a mixture of cold air and a deeper, unnameable fear. She wanted to call Mia, but her pride and embarrassment stopped her. She didn't want anyone to see her like this. Not after being turned away. Not after feeling so small, so broken.
As she sat on the curb, the city's noises blurred around her...the distant honk of a car, a dog barking somewhere, footsteps echoing on the pavement. It all felt unreal, like she was living in a world that didn't care about her pain, didn't notice her tears, and would never stop to help.
She decided to visit Mia's house for a while. Just… to breathe, to feel some normalcy after facing the harsh world again. The walk to Mia's neighborhood was short but long enough for her thoughts to swirl in a storm of fear, frustration, and longing.
When she arrived, Mia greeted her with her usual bright smile. "Bella! I wasn't expecting you this early." She opened the door wider, letting Isabella slip inside. The warm air, the soft music, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.
They settled on the sofa, the house large and bright compared to Isabella's cramped, shadowed apartment. Isabella's shoulders sagged as she let out a sigh. "I… I'm so jealous of you," she admitted quietly, staring down at her hands. "You have a good family… a big house… things I'll probably never have."
Mia tilted her head thoughtfully, her expression soft. "Don't say that Bella , You know… I'm also jealous of you." She reached over and nudged Isabella gently. "You're strong. You survive even when life is cruel to you. You have a fire in you… something I can't always manage."
Isabella blinked, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Strong… me?"
"Yes," Mia laughed, playful now. "And don't even get me started on your body babe ...you have a good shape, and it shows."
Isabella laughed too, the sound mingling with Mia's like sunlight piercing the clouds. For a moment, the weight on her chest lifted. She rested her head on Mia's shoulder, letting herself feel safe, letting herself breathe.
The two girls sat like that for a while, talking about school, small dreams, silly gossip, and the kind of laughter that made the world outside seem a little less cruel. But even as they joked, Isabella's mind drifted back to her apartment, to her father, to the shadows waiting for her.
Eventually, she knew she had to leave. Her mother might need her, and she couldn't hide from reality forever. As she stood to leave, Mia hugged her tightly. "Promise me something?"
"Anything," Isabella whispered.
"Call me if it gets too bad. No matter what. You don't have to do this alone."
"I promise," Isabella said, holding back tears. She left Mia's house and stepped into the bright, noisy city streets, feeling a strange mix of warmth and dread. The sunlight that had been comforting inside Mia's home now felt harsh and glaring outside.