The sun was barely up when I wandered back home. My muscles ached from yesterday's practice, but it was a good kind of ache—the kind that made me feel alive.
But the moment I stepped through the door, that feeling evaporated. Mom's voice carried from the living room, sharp and loud. Another argument. Another man. Another reminder that home was chaos.
I froze in the doorway, clutching my bag. I didn't want to watch. I didn't want to care. But part of me always did.
"Focus," Notice whispered in my mind. "Your skills help you navigate the world, but your emotions shape your growth. Observe, don't react immediately."
I nodded, though no one could see me. I crept to my room, slammed the door quietly, and leaned against it. My heart pounded. Years of this. Every new face in the house, every argument, every fight—it had chipped away at me. It had broken me.
I sat on the floor and closed my eyes. Notice's voice was steady, almost comforting.
"You are not your past, Mizu. Your choices now define you. Let's channel that energy. Which skill will help you today?"
I thought of the piano. Music always cleared the haze in my head. I visualized the keys, felt their texture under my fingertips. Even in my small room, the melody came alive, soft and haunting.
"Good. Notice the change within yourself. Each note, each movement, strengthens you."
A small part of me wondered… could skills fix my life? Could they repair what my family had broken inside me? But another part whispered, no, skills don't fix feelings. I clenched my fists, letting the doubt burn in my chest.
"Progress isn't linear," Notice said. "Sometimes you will succeed. Sometimes you will fail. Both teach you."
I exhaled slowly. Maybe that was enough for now. The piano echoed through the empty room. The notes didn't erase my past, but they reminded me I still existed. I still mattered.
For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel completely helpless. I could try. I could grow. I could… live.
And maybe, just maybe, I could face the chaos waiting outside my door.