As they were about to part ways, In-su looked at her seriously and said, "Give me your phone."
She blinked. "Huh?"
"This is my number." He typed it in. "If anything like this ever happens again, you call me. Got it?"
Aera just nodded quietly, tucking the phone back in her bag.
When she reached home, the first thing she noticed was the car parked neatly in the garage.
Her parents were already back.
The moment she opened the door, a tense silence swallowed the air. Her parents were seated on the couch, expressionless. Cold.
She kept her tone light, pretending not to notice.
"Meera Auntie, here's the milk and sugar I bought."
"Thank you, dear," Meera Auntie said softly, taking the bag from her hands.
As Aera turned to head to her room, her mother's voice cut through the air like a blade.
"Who was he?"
She stopped mid step. Turned slowly.
"Who?" she asked, knowing exactly what was coming.
"The boy. At the convenience store. Who was he? And what is your relationship with him?"
Aera blinked, once. Twice. "He's my classmate… my deskmate. A friend."
Her mother scoffed softly, but there was no humor in it, just sharpness. "Friend. Didn't I tell you to keep your distance from boys? You think I don't know how these things start? First friendship, then feelings, then shame. You think you're being smart?"
That tone.
That same tone that made her feel like she was wrong just for existing.
She'd heard it her entire life. Cold, judging, never once trying to understand.
Aera clenched her fists. Bit her lip.
Don't say it. Don't cry. Don't crack.
But her voice came out anyway, low and trembling. "If he hadn't been there today… I wouldn't be here either."
Her mother blinked. "What?"
"I said," she repeated, louder this time, "if he hadn't been there, you wouldn't be having this conversation with me. You'd be identifying your daughter's body!"
Silence.
Her mother stared at her like she was speaking a different language.
Aera laughed bitterly, wiping a tear off her cheek. "And you're worried about a boy? He saved me! But all you care about is what people will think."
Her father sat quietly, as always. A shadow.
Her heart pounded like a drum inside a glass box. Fragile. Close to breaking.
"I'm ashamed," she whispered, voice breaking. "I'm ashamed to call you my mother."
Meera Auntie gasped softly. "Aera, don't say—"
"No, Ma, please," Aera said, her voice cracked but firm. "Let me speak. Just this once."
She turned back to her parents.
"You always say you care. But I've never felt safe here. Never felt seen. I get warmth from Meera Auntie. From strangers. But from you?" She looked her mother in the eyes. "From you I get suspicion. Control. Disappointment."
She paused, voice shaking.
"This house doesn't feel like a home. It feels like a cage. And you... both of you, you're the guards."
No one spoke.
Her breath hitched. "I've been holding it all in for years. Smiling when I was dying inside. Pretending to be okay. But today? Today I just… can't."
And she walked away.
Head high.
But the tears spilled the moment she hit her room.
She didn't slam the door. She didn't scream. She just collapsed onto the bed and cried into her pillow like she was trying to silence the pain for the millionth time.
The silence after Aera's outburst rang louder than any scream.
Her mother stood frozen in place, her fingers trembling slightly at her sides. Her lips parted, as if to call her daughter back but no sound came.
Aera's bedroom door clicked shut, muffled behind the weight of everything left unsaid.
She just stood there, blank. Numb. And then.
"Am I really that bad…?" she whispered.
Her voice cracked.
Her husband leaned back on the sofa, arms crossed. Cold. Detached. "Didn't I tell you before? You pampered her wrong. You interfered too much. Now deal with it."
Of course.
He never once said "our daughter." It was always her fault. Always her job to raise Aera right.
She swallowed hard, her throat burning. A faint ache settled in her chest like a bruise blooming slowly.
Still barefoot, she walked toward Aera's room her steps hesitant, carefully not to make a sound.
She gently opened the door, just a little.
The lights were off. Moonlight spilled through the curtains like liquid silver.
And there, curled up on the bed, was her daughter.
Fast asleep. Tear streaked. Pillow damp.
She looked… small.
So small, it broke something in her.
The mother stepped in, quietly. Sat beside her, barely letting the mattress shift. And with the gentlest fingers, she brushed the strands of hair away from Aera's face.
Her daughter flinched a little in her sleep, but didn't wake.
Tears welled in her mother's eyes, finally spilling over.
"I didn't know," she whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't know I was the reason you felt caged…"
She let out a shaky breath, hand still resting softly on Aera's head.
"I thought I was protecting you. But maybe… I was only protecting my own fears."
Her hand trembled against Aera's hair.
"I'm sorry, my baby. I didn't know you were suffering like this… because of me."
A sob rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down.
"I'll do better," she whispered, barely audible. "I swear. I'll try… even if it's too late."
And with one last lingering touch, she stood up, gently wiping her tears, and left the room in silence, closing the door behind her like sealing away a prayer.