SUYEN
It was an ordinary afternoon, and I was walking home when I first saw Sophia crying. I knew immediately that it was because of me. I had stolen her boyfriend, Collie. Who the guy sitting beside her was, I couldn't tell; my eyesight is poor, especially when it comes to identifying people from a distance. But Sophia? Of course, I could recognize my own sister.
She was sitting on a swing, her head down, with tears streaming down her face. The guy beside her was comforting her, gently rubbing her back to calm her sobbing. I could hear bits of her complaints, the bitterness in her voice as she cursed my name. She hated me. I couldn’t care less. To me, Sophia has always been a disrespectful, spoiled brat.
The guy—probably a friend—continued consoling her as I resumed walking. Yes, she has friends. Unlike her, I don't have any. Not that it matters. As I got closer to home, the familiar dread crept in, tightening its grip on my chest. Home was anything but a sanctuary. It was just a house—a place that constantly reminded me of everything I wanted to escape.
I took a deep breath before entering. The moment I stepped inside, I heard my mother’s furious voice.
“Where have you been?” she snapped, her tone icy and accusing. “If what your so-called friends are saying is true, Suyen, I swear to God, I’ll disown you!”
I stared at her, unbothered. “What exactly are they saying, huh? That I’m sleeping around?” My tone was biting. “Seriously, Mom, do you think I’d stoop that low? Those ‘friends’ are just spreading rumors because I cut ties with them. But if you must know,” I shrugged nonchalantly, “maybe it’s true.”
Her face twisted in anger, and before I knew it, she slapped me hard across the cheek. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. I barely flinched.
“For the record,” I said flatly, “I was at Miss Clarette’s today, playing chess with her students. Call her if you don’t believe me.” Without waiting for a response, I turned and headed to my room.
Miss Clarette is one of the few adults I respect. She’s a teacher who taught me chess, and for a while, it was my escape, my solace. But nothing good ever seems to last.
In our family, favoritism is painfully obvious. Sophia is the golden child. She’s showered with attention, gifts, and love—everything I’ve never had. Me? I’m the black sheep. My parents barely acknowledge my achievements. The phone I’m using now? I bought it with the prize money from a chess tournament. Every medal I’ve earned, every competition I’ve won—none of it means anything to them. They don’t care.
Despite all that, I’ve always been an overachiever. But no matter how much I accomplished, I remained the family’s punching bag.
Today is my birthday. Not that anyone remembered. I glanced at the calendar hanging on the back of my door, the date circled in bright red. No cake, no spaghetti, no celebration. Nothing. Typical.
I’d grown used to it—the neglect, the fights, the insults. Even now, my mom was yelling at me again. Something about how I’d said something mean to Sophia. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I said. It’s hard to keep track when every word feels like a battle.
“You never listen to me! You never give me anything I need!” I shouted, my voice cracking with frustration. “You’re too immature to even be a mom!”
Another slap. By now, I’ve lost count of how many times she’s hit me. As a kid, I used to cry. Now, I just stare back, numb.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone standing in the doorway. It was a boy from the house across the street. I didn’t know his name, and I didn’t care to. People come and go. Names are irrelevant.
“I’m looking for Sophia,” he said, his gaze fixed on me. His tone was curt, almost accusatory.
I scoffed. Sophia must’ve told him her version of the story. The way he looked at me—with disdain—said it all. I didn’t respond and walked past him to my room.
Furious, I yanked my medals off the wall, one by one. They clattered to the floor as I tossed them into a box along with my chessboards. I shoved the box into the corner, out of sight. I was done. Done with chess, done with competing, done with everything.
I stopped drawing, too. Art used to be another passion of mine, but I abandoned that as well. I stopped accepting commissions, stopped creating. I became a shadow of myself, withdrawing further into isolation. I only left my room for school, carefully timing my exits to avoid my family. Meals were eaten in the dead of night when no one else was around.
I felt nothing but emptiness.
A few days later, my mom knocked on my door. Reluctantly, I let her in. She handed me a small box.
“Your birthday was a few days ago,” she said softly. “You didn’t come out of your room, so...”
I stared at the box in her hands, then laughed bitterly. “I forgot about it, too. Don’t worry. I already bought myself something.”
Before she could say more, I grabbed my bag and left for school. “I’ll be late if I don’t leave now!” I called out, forcing a smile as I waved goodbye. The moment I stepped outside, the smile vanished.
I’m just counting down the days until I can leave this place for good.
At school, a chess tournament was underway. I spotted Marcus, a classmate, sitting alone in a corner. I sat beside him.
“So, you’re playing today?” he asked.
“Not really,” I replied with a smirk. “But if you want me to, we’ll need to update our deal.”
His brows furrowed. “What deal?”
“Stop courting me, or whatever you call it,” I said bluntly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Marcus. I’m emotionally unstable, and you know it.”
He hesitated, clearly taken aback. “I’ll beat you anyway,” he said with a grin, deflecting my words.
The tournament began, and I easily defeated my first few opponents. The crowd cheered, but their excitement only annoyed me. I glanced at Marcus, who was smirking in the audience. He seemed confident, but to my surprise, he lost his match.
My final opponent was a stranger—a cocky guy with an arrogant smile. He was good, better than anyone else I’d faced that day. But in the end, I won.
“Good game,” he said as he extended his hand.
I ignored it. “You’re decent,” I admitted grudgingly. “But you’ve got a long way to go.”
After the tournament, Marcus approached me. “Who was that guy?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation.
“I have no idea,” I replied, equally annoyed. “Why do you care?”
“Because he smiled at you. You’re such a flirt, Suyen,” he teased, though there was an edge to his voice.
“Excuse me?” I snapped. “I insulted him for you, idiot.”
Marcus rolled his eyes. “Flirt.”
I kicked his shin, making him yelp in pain. Before I could say more, the cocky stranger from earlier walked over.
“Good game, Suyen. You’re impressive,” he said with a genuine smile.
I glanced at Marcus, who glared at me accusingly. He mouthed, “Flirt.”
I wanted to scream, but instead, I laughed. For the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of something other than despair. Maybe there was still a shred of hope for me after all.
******