The house was silent when Xinyi stepped through the door. At first, she thought she had timed it perfectly, slipping in late as she always did when she was sure her family was out. But as she took another step forward, a voice cut through the air.
“Where have you been?”
Xinyi froze.
Her mother stood in the hallway, arms crossed, eyes sharp and full of accusation.
Xinyi swallowed, forcing herself to stay calm. “School,” she answered plainly.
“School?” Her mother let out a bitter laugh. “Do you take me for a fool? School ended hours ago.”
Xinyi lowered her gaze, knowing that no excuse would be enough.
“I’ve told you before,” her mother continued, her voice rising. “You are not to leave this house unless it’s for school! You think you can just come and go as you please? What are you doing out there? Running around like a stray?”
Xinyi clenched her fists. She knew better than to talk back.
Her father joined in then, stepping into the room. “Ungrateful,” he muttered. “You have everything handed to you, and this is how you repay us?”
They didn’t hit her. They never did. But their words cut deeper than anything physical ever could.
No matter what she did, no matter how she tried to obey, it was never enough.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t cry. She just stood there, enduring it, like she always did.
When they were finally done, she went straight to her room, closing the door behind her.
Only then did she let herself fall apart.
Tears she had buried deep pushed their way out, streaking down her face as she sat on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She barely ever cried. She had learned not to.
But tonight, she couldn’t hold it in.
Her mind drifted back to memories that refused to fade—scenes of her trying, over and over again, to please her parents, only to be scolded, belittled, dismissed.
She remembered sweeping the floor once, thinking that maybe—just maybe—if she helped around the house, they would look at her differently. That they would say something kind for once.
Instead, her mother had sneered, pointing out every single mistake.
“You don’t even know how to sweep properly. Are you really that useless?”
And another time, when she had tried to help in the kitchen, her mother’s voice had cut through the air again.
“Just get out. You’re only making things worse.”
She had always felt awkward doing things in front of them. It was different when she was alone. She knew how to cook well—she had tried so many recipes in secret, in the quiet of an empty kitchen, where no one was there to criticize her. But none of that mattered, because they never saw that side of her.
All they saw was the version of her that they had already decided on: the disappointment.
Her chest felt heavy. Was she really that hard to love?
Sleep eventually claimed her, but it wasn’t peaceful.
—
The next day, she went to school as if nothing had happened.
She ignored the puffiness around her eyes, walking through the halls with the same empty expression she always wore. No one noticed. No one ever did.
When the final bell rang, she hesitated. She didn’t want to go home.
Her feet carried her to the park instead, to the same bench where she had sat with him before.
Without thinking too much about it, she bought an ice cream—vanilla and chocolate. But she only ate the vanilla.
As she stared at the melting dessert in her hands, her mind drifted to Zhao Chen.
To the way he had noticed things about her that no one else ever had.
The way he had swapped their ice creams without a second thought when he realized she was allergic to chocolate.
The way he had stood up for her, pretending to be her brother just so she wouldn’t get in trouble.
And the way he had looked at her—like she wasn’t invisible.
Something in her chest tightened.
Was this… what it felt like to be cared for?
She quickly pushed the thought away. No. She couldn’t allow herself to think that way.
No one had ever truly cared before. So why would he?
She refused to hope.
Hope was dangerous.
“Boo.”
A voice came suddenly from behind her, and before she could react, a hand lightly tapped her shoulder.
Xinyi flinched, turning sharply—only to see Zhao Chen grinning down at her.
Her heart did something strange.
“What the hell?” she muttered, glaring at him. “Are you five?”
Zhao Chen chuckled, slipping onto the bench beside her. “You were too deep in thought. Thought I’d wake you up.”
Xinyi huffed, turning back to her ice cream.
Zhao Chen didn’t speak right away. Instead, he studied her.
Something was… off.
She was always quiet, always guarded—but today, there was something different about her.
Her posture was stiffer. Her face, even more unreadable than usual. But the biggest giveaway? Her eyes.
They looked… tired.
Not just the kind of tired that came from lack of sleep. The kind of tired that came from carrying too much, for too long.
“You okay?” he asked casually.
Xinyi tensed, gripping her ice cream tighter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He hummed. “No reason.”
Silence stretched between them.
Then, ever so slowly, he started luring her in.
He talked about random things—about his classes, about the computer science fair coming up. He made a joke about how he almost spilled coffee on himself at work.
And little by little, Xinyi found herself responding.
Not much. Just small comments here and there. But it was more than usual.
Then, without even realizing it, she let something slip.
“…I don’t really like being home.”
It was soft. So soft, she almost wasn’t sure she had actually said it.
Zhao Chen’s gaze flickered toward her. But instead of pressing, he simply nodded.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I figured.”
Xinyi’s fingers curled slightly. She had let her guard down.
She should’ve shut herself off immediately. But for some reason… she didn’t.
She didn’t say anything more, but she also didn’t leave.
And Zhao Chen—he didn’t push.
He just sat there.
And for once, Xinyi didn’t feel like she was completely alone.