The college gates were supposed to feel like an escape, but instead, they just felt like entering another world where I didn't belong.
When the new semester started, the campus was buzzing with energy. Everywhere I looked, groups of students were laughing, gossiping, and making plans. My own friends surrounded me, pulling me into their usual circle, talking about upcoming assignments, college festivals, and everyday drama.
I forced a smile onto my face. I nodded at the right times. I tried my absolute best to blend into their conversation, but internally, I felt completely out of sync.
Their voices sounded distant, like they were speaking to me from underwater. My mind was still trapped back in that quiet, suffocating house, haunted by the looming shadow of my father's decision. I was physically sitting right next to them, surrounded by a crowd of people, yet a massive, invisible gulf separated me from everyone else. They were living in the light of normal, carefree youth; I was carrying a heavy, silent darkness.
But I kept the mask tightly fastened. I didn't want a single person to look at me with pity. I didn't want to explain the broken pieces of my family, the sister who ran away and how everyone started to belittle me or the father who was erasing my mother. To them, I had to remain the focused, untroubled Iris.
As the days went on, the internal strain grew worse. During lectures, the professors' voices faded into background noise. I would stare at the blackboard, but all I could see were the damp spots on my pillow from the night before. Realizing I couldn't focus on the classes anymore, and suffocating under the pressure of trying to look normal in front of my friends, I started slipping away.
The moment a lecture ended—and sometimes even right in the middle of one—I would quietly gather my books and leave the crowded corridors behind.
I sought refuge in the one place where silence was mandatory: the college library. Walking through the rows of towering bookshelves felt like entering a sanctuary. There were no fake smiles required here, no painful small talk, and no eyes watching to see if I was okay. I would find a secluded desk in the deepest corner, pull out my books, and let the quiet wash over me. In the stillness of the library, surrounded by thousands of pages of facts and logic, I desperately tried to piece back together my shattered focus and find a fragile peace of mind.
The rows of books stretching toward the ceiling gave me a few hours of artificial peace, but a library can only keep the world out for so long. Eventually, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long, dark shadows across my desk. The library was closing. The sanctuary was shutting its doors.
The moment I stepped outside the college gates and onto the busy streets, the heavy weight I had managed to push aside came rushing back with a vengeance. It was like a shadow that had been waiting for me in the courtyard, catching up to me the second I left the safety of the campus. I tightened my grip on the straps of my bag, trying my best to steel myself for what was waiting at the end of my commute. The closer I got to my neighborhood, the tighter my chest became. Every step toward that front door felt like walking into a trap.
I opened the door quietly, hoping to slip upstairs unnoticed, back to the safety of my room and my damp pillow. But the sounds from the living room stopped me dead in my tracks.
It was laughter. Low, comfortable, and warm.
I walked into the hallway and saw my father sitting on the sofa. He was holding the phone, a wide, genuine smile lighting up his face—a smile I hadn't seen since before my mother got sick. He was talking to her. The "good person." The replacement.
Seeing him so happy, so easily distracted from the ghost that still lingered in every corner of this house, made a sharp wave of nausea hit me. He was completely lost in his conversation, his voice dropping into a gentle tone that belonged to a husband, a tone he had neglected to use for my mother when she was suffering.
I couldn't stand the sight of it. The cold, untouchable mask I had worn all day at college cracked under the sheer pressure of my disgust.
"Father," I called out, my voice cutting through his laughter like a blade.
He started, blinking as he looked up from the phone, caught off guard. He didn't even look guilty; he just looked annoyed that his bubble had been burst. He quickly muttered something into the receiver—something sweet and reassuring—before pulling the phone away from his ear.
He looked up at me, the warmth from his phone conversation instantly evaporating into a distant, polite coldness.
"Oh, Iris, you're back. Good," he said, his voice dropping into that familiar, detached tone he always used with me. "You should go eat something, and then make sure you focus on your studies. If you don't, you'll be left behind."
A sharp, familiar ache twisted in my chest. That was it. He didn't ask, "How was your day, Iris?" Or "How are you holding up at college?" He didn't care about my exhaustion, the invisible walls suffocating me in class, or the hours I spent hiding in the library. To him, I wasn't a daughter hurting from the wreckage of this family; I was just a student who needed to produce results. My sole purpose in this house was to study and not be a burden.
A bitter wave of resentment hit me, but I swallowed it down, forcing my face to become an expressionless mask.
"Yes, Father, I am back," I replied, my voice chillingly calm. "And you don't have to worry about a single thing. I will do my best. It is my duty, and I will fulfill it."
He just nodded, already glancing back down at his phone, his mind returning to the special person waiting on the line. He didn't even notice my sadness.
I pulled myself up and walked over to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I hated the red, swollen eyes staring back at me. I turned on the tap, splashing cold water over my face until the skin went numb. I took a clean handkerchief, carefully wiping away the tear stains, rubbing until my cheeks were flushed. I was wiping away the vulnerability.
I went downstairs, forced myself to eat a few bites of food just to sustain my body, and quickly retreated back to the safety of my room.
I sat down at my desk and pulled my heavy textbooks toward me. Focus, I commanded myself. Just read the lines. But the human mind is a traitor. Every time the room went completely still, my thoughts would slip right back into the living room downstairs. I could almost hear the faint, muffled sound of my father's laughter through the floorboards. Every equation on the page started to look like a reminder of how disposable love really was.
Realizing the silence was my enemy, I reached for my phone and plugged in my earphones.
I turned on some music, letting the sound flood my ears until it drowned out the quiet of the house. As the melody filled my head, I didn't just listen—I started softly singing along with the lyrics. I used the rhythm to anchor myself to the present moment, forcing my brain to follow the notes instead of my memories.
With the music blasting, the thoughts of my father, the stranger on the phone, and the crushing sadness of my reality finally began to fade into the background. Under the shield of those songs, I picked up my pen and began to write. I was fighting for my future .
"You might look at Iris and wonder why she is always hiding behind locked doors, always crying into her pillow, and always trying so desperately to steel her mind. But the truth is far more tragic. Every single time Iris tries to piece her life back together, her heart breaks all over again.
Beneath that cold, untouchable mask, her soul is still bleeding.
It is bleeding from the agonizing loss of her mother. It is bleeding from her family's ultimate betrayal. Her heart is not just cracked; it is scattered into a thousand jagged pieces—broken since her childhood. She tries with all her might to mend the damage, but the burden is simply too heavy. How can a teenager fix a shattered life when she is completely, utterly alone? Day by day, the loneliness suffocates her because there is no one standing beside her to protect her mind, no one to share the weight of this unbearable pain.
But as Iris sits in her room, using music to drown out her cries, she has no idea that her fragile peace is about to be completely obliterated.
What massive surprise is waiting to ambush Iris in the dark? When the music finally stops, what hidden truth will rise from the ashes of her childhood to challenge her existence once again? Will she survive the shock, or will this next storm scatter the remaining pieces of her heart forever?
Stay with us to know how the story unfolds!"