The next morning, sunlight peeked through the half-closed blinds in Edwina's living room, casting golden streaks across the couch. My eyes fluttered open slowly. I was still wrapped in the warm, oversized blanket, my hair a mess and my face sticky from the leftover serum of last night's face mask. The faint sound of birds chirping outside made the silence inside feel peaceful—almost sacred.
Edwina was still asleep beside me, curled into a ball with the softest snore escaping her lips. I smiled, grabbed my phone from under the pillow, and checked the time.
**7:48 a.m.**
Too early for a Saturday, but my mind was already racing.
It had been over a month since I entered this new life—a university student, a wife in name only, a girl balancing secrets like fragile glass. Some days, I questioned whether I was really *living* or just *surviving*.
I tiptoed into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Edwina's apartment was filled with soft, feminine touches—lavender-scented candles, pastel dish towels, and a small chalkboard on the fridge that read:
**"Today is a good day to be kind."**
I wanted that kind of simplicity. That kind of peace.
"Morning," Edwina mumbled, walking in while rubbing her eyes. Her hair stuck out in all directions, and her voice was groggy.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said with a chuckle. "Did you sleep well?"
"Like a baby," she yawned. "But my neck hurts from that awkward couch angle. Next time, you're taking my bed, and I'm taking the couch."
"Deal," I replied with a grin.
We made some instant coffee and sat quietly on the balcony, wrapped in cardigans and sipping from mismatched mugs. For a few minutes, we didn't talk—we just *were*. That's something I hadn't felt in a long time. Just existing, without performing. Without pretending.
"Can I ask you something?" Edwina said suddenly, her tone a little more serious.
"Sure."
"Why do you always seem like… you're carrying the world on your shoulders?" she asked gently. "You're kind and sweet, but sometimes your eyes look like they're hiding a thousand storms."
I froze. That question hit closer than I expected.
I forced a small smile. "Maybe I'm just tired."
She didn't press further, and I was grateful for that. That's what I meant when I said I admired her—she knew when to ask and when to let silence speak instead.
After breakfast, I thanked her for the night and made my way back to my apartment. The walk home was quiet, the streets still half-asleep. A few couples jogged past, laughing about something I couldn't hear. A young girl walked her dog, humming a tune. Everything looked *normal*. Ordinary.
But normal wasn't a luxury I could afford.
When I got home, I ran a hot bath and soaked in it for what felt like an eternity. I was too lazy afterward to follow through with my skincare routine or even dry my hair properly. I dragged myself straight to bed, still wrapped in a towel, and dozed off.
I woke up again in the early evening, hunger gnawing at my insides. I stumbled into the kitchen, too famished to make anything special, and decided to prepare instant noodles.
I was a pro at making them. I remembered how my father would only eat noodles if *I* was the one who made them. That memory hit me with a wave of warmth and nostalgia. A pang of grief followed close behind.
I still wasn't over their death—my parents. And perhaps, I never would be.
Once the noodles were ready, I sat down and ate them greedily, not even waiting for them to cool. The heat scalded my tongue, but I didn't care. I just needed something to *feel*.
Only after eating did I remember I had a phone.
I unlocked it, planning to check the school group chat and see if there were any updates regarding the group project I was handling with Miles Braxton. That was when I noticed a notification I'd missed earlier in the day.
A message.
From **Ethan Marrow**.
My stomach flipped.
I hesitated for a few seconds, unsure whether to open it or not. My thumb hovered over the screen as nerves twisted in my gut. Finally, I summoned what little courage I had left and tapped it open.
---
**Message from Ethan Marrow:**
*You didn't spend the night at home?*
*Why?*
*Are you safe?*
---
I stared at the message.
And then I read it again.
And again.
I must've read it an unhealthy number of times, trying to decode the tone. Was that… concern? Worry? I didn't want to be delusional, but something about the last message felt oddly sincere.
Still, I kept it simple.
---
Zoey>>>
*I'm good. I spent the night at one of my coursemate's place. She invited me over.*
---
I tapped *send*.
And then… nothing.
No reply.
Just silence.
I placed my phone screen-down on the kitchen counter, the quiet in the room suddenly heavier than before. I didn't know what I expected—but somehow, his silence echoed louder than any message ever could.
---
To be continued.