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Chapter 20: Cracks in the Glass

> "It's not the shouting that breaks you. It's the pretending nothing ever happened."

Mun stood in front of the bathroom mirror, the light flickering above her. Her rice-stained plate still sat in the sink. No one told her to wash it, but she knew if she didn't, it would be brought up days later—"You can write essays for America but can't clean a plate?"

She turned the faucet on. Let the water run. It drowned out the world.

Her face looked older tonight. Tired. Her eyes held a shine, not from tears—but from holding them back too long. She stared at her reflection like it was someone else. Someone she pitied.

Is this how ghosts feel? Not dead, not alive. Just... missing.

Her chest ached with words she never got to say. But she'd said too much already, hadn't she? She had dared to speak up during dinner. Dared to share a dream.

She had been punished with silence.

She washed the plate quietly, scrubbing harder than she needed to. The sponge squeaked against the ceramic like it was screaming for her.

Then she sat on her bed, back straight, eyes blank.

Her mom walked by with a bowl of fruits for Nix.

"Don't sleep too late," she muttered without looking inside.

Not "Good night." Not "Are you okay?"

Mun stared at the ceiling. The fan spun slowly, ticking like a broken clock.

Her phone buzzed.

Zara: Hey. Just wanted to say I believe in you. You're gonna get out of there someday. I just know it.

Zara wasn't a best friend. She didn't know all the dark corners of Mun's life — but she noticed things. The way Mun barely spoke during group projects. The way her hands trembled when teachers praised her too loudly. The way she always acted fine, like she was used to being invisible.

She wasn't close, but she was kind. And sometimes, kindness from a distance still reached deep enough to matter.

Mun's throat tightened.

She typed, I wish my family saw me the way you do.

Then deleted it.

Typed again: Thank you.

Sent.

Her eyes fell on her scholarship folder. Still open. Still hopeful.

She picked it up and gently placed it in the bottom drawer. Closed it.

Not because she gave up.

But because tonight… she was too tired to hope.

She lay down fully dressed. No blanket. No comfort.

Just silence.

Again.

But this time, she let one tear fall.

Just one.

Then none.

Because Mun knew… the more she cried here, the less strength she'd have left to run later.

And she still planned to run.

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