Laughter echoed through the grand hallways, a chaotic symphony of students rushing to their classes. Among them, she weaved through the crowd, clutching her books to her chest, her golden-brown hair bouncing with each hurried step. She was late. Again.
"You know, you should really invest in an alarm clock," her best friend teased, matching her pace.
She rolled her eyes, exhaling. "I did. It just fears me too much to wake me up."
The two of them giggled before slipping into their lecture hall, but the moment she looked up, her breath hitched. There he was—leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as if he owned the very air she breathed. His presence demanded attention. The infamous devil of the college, untouchable, feared, and yet… oddly fascinated by her. His dark eyes flicked to hers, unreadable yet knowing.
She swallowed and quickly turned away, pretending not to notice. It was always like this—an unspoken pull, a game neither of them had agreed to play, yet both participated in.
PRESENT
The shrill cry of the alarm shattered the silence, dragging her from the depths of a restless sleep. Her fingers fumbled over the bedside table before smacking the snooze button. A heavy sigh left her lips as she blinked up at the ceiling, her heart drumming against her ribs. Today was important.
She inhaled deeply, trying to push away the heavy blanket of exhaustion clinging to her. You can do this. You have to do this.
Rolling out of bed, she stretched, her bones aching from another night of too little rest. Her gaze flickered toward the small clock on the wall—already late. Panic surged through her as she rushed toward the tiny wooden wardrobe, yanking it open. A simple white blouse and a black pencil skirt—a safe, professional choice. She ironed them just last night, carefully smoothing out every wrinkle.
Her hands shook slightly as she buttoned up the blouse. Breathe. It’s just an interview.
A glance in the cracked mirror by the door revealed dark circles under her eyes, evidence of too many sleepless nights and endless worries. Still, she forced a small, hopeful smile and reached for a cheap tube of lip balm, swiping it over her lips. Look presentable, look confident. Even if you don’t feel it.
The scent of toasted bread filled the air as she dashed into the small kitchen. She grabbed a slice, barely buttered, and shoved it between her lips as she stuffed her worn-out bag with her resume and a few essentials.
“Dad, I’m leaving!” she called, her voice slightly muffled.
Her father sat at the dining table, his wrinkled hands flipping through an old newspaper, the same way he always did every morning. His salt-and-pepper hair looked messier than usual, but his warm eyes crinkled as he gave her a smile.
“Slow down, you’ll choke,” he chuckled. “And good luck, my little warrior.”
Her heart swelled at the nickname. He had called her that since she was a child—his little warrior, his strong girl.
She bent down, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before running toward the door. "I'll bring sweets when I get the job!" she promised with a grin, unaware that this was the last time she’d ever see that smile again.
*********************************
The city was alive with its usual chaos—cars honking, vendors shouting, people moving in a rush. She clutched onto the metro pole, her fingers damp with sweat. Her stomach twisted, not just from nerves but from the familiar ache of hope and fear battling inside her.
She had spent months preparing for this opportunity. If she got this job, she could finally help her father properly, reduce his burden, and start building a stable life.
Her mind drifted to the job requirements. Had she practiced enough? Was her resume strong enough? What if she messed up the interview?
No. She couldn’t afford doubt right now.
Stepping into the company building, she took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and walked in.
Two hours later, she walked out.
Rejected.
She stood outside the towering office, gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. The email stared back at her, each word stabbing into her chest.
“We regret to inform you…”
Her vision blurred.
It wasn’t just about the job. It was about everything. The weight of struggling day after day, the fear of failing, the constant fight against circumstances that never seemed to change.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To demand the universe why it kept slamming doors in her face.
But all she did was swallow the lump in her throat and keep walking.
Maybe next time. Maybe—
********************************************
The moment she stepped into her house, something felt wrong.
The air was thick, suffocating, carrying a scent that made her stomach turn. The dim lighting made shadows stretch unnaturally across the walls.
Her heart pounded.
“Dad?” she called, stepping inside. The silence was deafening.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud.
A few more steps.
Then she saw him.
Hanging from the ceiling fan.
His frail body swayed slightly, his lifeless eyes staring into nothing.
The world tilted. No… No, no, no.
A strangled scream tore from her throat. Her knees buckled as she stumbled forward, her shaking hands reaching out, but—she was too late.
“Dad! No! Please, no!”
Her sobs ripped through the silence, raw and heart-wrenching, her fingers clutching onto his cold feet as if she could bring him back just by holding on.
Tears blurred her vision. The walls of their tiny home seemed to collapse in on her, suffocating her in grief.
Why? Why would he leave her like this?
And then—her teary gaze landed on the small wooden dining table.
An envelope.
Addressed to her.
Her hands trembled as she reached for it, unfolding the letter with a choked breath.
Each word carved into her soul, breaking her piece by piece.
And as the final sentence burned itself into her mind—her blood turned to ice.
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