Present Day – Midnight, Aira's Bedroom
The room is silent. Too silent.The curtains barely move. Moonlight creeps in through the window, pale and weak, unable to reach the corners of the room.
On the nightstand, her phone lights up.One new message. Then another. Then another.
She doesn't want to look. But she does.
Slut got what she deserved.Still chasing Liam? Pathetic.Even your own family hates you.
Her throat tightens. She turns the phone face-down, the screen going dark. The silence presses heavier now, louder than the buzzing in her ears.
Her lips tremble. Her voice is only a whisper."Why… why am I still here?"
Flashback – Childhood Montage
Her mind betrays her. Pulls her back.
Laughter in the kitchen. The smell of pancakes and warm bread.Her mother kissing her forehead and calling her "sunshine."Her father sweeping her up into his arms, whispering, "My little star."Rayen carrying her on his shoulders, letting her see the world from above.Mira sitting beside her with crayons, drawing flowers and butterflies.And Sana, that very first night, holding her hand tightly, refusing to let go.
Aira's chest aches. Her heart almost believes it again—almost believes she belonged once.
But then, the memory cracks.The laughter is drowned by screaming.The gentle touches are replaced with blame, with slaps, with cold silence.Sana's hand squeezes hers—only to let go, leaving Aira to fall.Liam's voice sneers in her ears.And everyone else walks by… as if she isn't even there.
The warmth dies.The light fades.All that remains is the shadow.
Present – Aira Sitting Up in Bed
Her breath comes in short, ragged gasps. She can't breathe. The air feels too heavy, pressing her down.
She clutches her chest with trembling fingers.And then it breaks—sobs tearing out of her throat, raw and ugly.The kind of cry you don't want anyone to hear.The kind of cry that proves no one will come anyway.
Between broken gasps, her voice shakes:"I was loved. I was loved… Wasn't I?"
Her tears blur the ceiling, the walls, everything.
The Photo Album
Her hands move on their own.She crawls across the floor, pulling out the old cupboard, dragging down a dusty, half-forgotten photo album.
Her fingers tremble as she flips the pages.
Page one: her smile beams so brightly, her parents' arms wrapped around her.Page two: her siblings at her side, laughing together.Page three: her smile a little smaller.Page four: her eyes already dimmer.Page five: she is there—but pushed to the side.Page six: blurred, fading into the background.
By the last page… she is gone.No trace of her at all.As if she never belonged.
The Mirror
She staggers to her feet and stands in front of the mirror.
A stranger stares back at her.Eyes swollen. Hair tangled. Skin pale, almost translucent.A ghost of a girl who used to live here.
Her hand grips a marker. Slowly, shakily, she presses it against the glass.
The squeak of ink cuts through the silence as she writes:
"I am still here.But I don't know why."
The words stare back at her, sharp against her reflection.
Her knees give out. She sinks to the floor beneath the mirror, hugging herself, rocking back and forth.
Her voice is a broken whisper, barely audible."I miss the girl who smiled. The girl they loved. The girl I used to be."
And the room swallows her silence whole.