The streets outside were alive with the distant hum of traffic, the occasional blare of a horn cutting through the silence of her tiny apartment.

But inside, there was nothing but stillness.

A suffocating, endless silence.

She sat curled up on the cold floor, her back against the wall, phone clutched tightly in her trembling hands.

The screen glowed dimly, reflecting in her glassy eyes. Her father’s voice crackled through the speaker, his laughter ringing out from an old video she had watched a hundred times before.

“Laughs I know I will get a beautiful daughter. I am feeling very proud to be the father of my daughter. She will make me proud… he kisses her on the forehead, his voice thick with emotion.”

Her lips quivered.

A sob tore its way out of her throat, her entire body shaking with the force of her grief.

“I’m sorry, Dad… I couldn’t make you proud. I’m a very bad daughter.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, blurring her vision as she curled in on herself, her hands gripping at her arms like she could hold herself together.

But she was falling apart.

Piece by piece.

The day after his funeral had been a blur.

Condolences, pitying glances, murmured words of comfort from neighbors who barely knew her father. People left, life moved on, but she remained trapped in the moment she had walked into their home and found him hanging from the ceiling fan.

Her nightmares never let her escape it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him there. Sometimes he spoke, his voice hollow and distant, telling her it wasn’t her fault. Other times, he simply stared at her, disappointment etched into his features. She woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, only to be met with the emptiness of her room.

The once cozy home she had shared with her father now felt alien.

Cold.

Bills piled up on the table. Unopened letters, warnings, notices—reminders of responsibilities she had never been prepared for.

She had tried—tried so hard—to keep everything together. She worked extra shifts at the café, forcing a smile at customers who complained about their coffee being too bitter while she fought back the bitterness clawing at her own heart.

She skipped meals, telling herself she wasn’t hungry when in reality, she couldn’t afford anything more than a piece of bread and instant noodles. Her father’s voice haunted her even in the grocery store. Eat well, my child. Your health is important. But what was the point now?

Her loneliness clung to her like a second skin. Some days, she found herself scrolling through her contacts, hovering over old messages from friends. She typed, deleted, typed again—only to never hit send.

What would she even say? That she was drowning? That every time she laughed, it felt like a betrayal to the man who had given her everything?

Then there were the moments when reality hit her hardest.

She would wake up in the morning, half-asleep, and call out, "Dad, breakfast?" before realizing she was speaking to an empty house. She would pause at the doorway, expecting his familiar voice to respond with a teasing remark about how she was always running late. But there was nothing. Just silence.

Once, she had absentmindedly bought his favorite tea from the store. It wasn’t until she placed it on the counter that she realized. And then she broke. Right there in the middle of the supermarket, tears slipping down her face as strangers awkwardly glanced at her before turning away.

She wanted to scream. To cry out that she wasn’t okay. That she was lost, barely holding herself together with weak threads of stubbornness. But the world didn’t stop for grief. It kept moving. And so did she.

Nights were the hardest. Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the world pressing down on her chest.

Sometimes she replayed their last conversation, dissecting every word, every pause, searching for something she had missed.

A sign.

A plea for help. But there had been nothing. He had smiled at her that morning. Told her to do her best.

And then he was gone.

Gone.

The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

She didn’t know how much longer she could keep pretending to be strong. To act like she wasn’t falling apart from the inside.

Her fingers traced over the screen of her phone, over her father’s face in the paused video.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she whispered into the empty room, “I miss you, Dad.”

No response. Just the hum of the city beyond her window. And the crushing weight of silence.