She closed the door and walked pass her olders brother name Michael who never come out of his room.
She walked past Michael's room without stopping.
Michael
The door was shut like always.
No sound came from inside.
Not even game noise. Not even movement.
Just silence that felt heavier than the shouting downstairs.
Ivy hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then kept walking.
Because knocking there never changed anything anyway
She turned away.
Downstairs, her father still hadn't moved from the couch.
The TV flickered across his face, painting him in shifting light. When Ivy stepped into the living room, he didn't look at her at first.
"Dad," she said.
A pause.
Then a low grunt. "Hm?"
"Mom said dinner is ready."
Only then did he glance over.like she had just reminded him of something mildly inconvenient.
"Yeah," he said after a second. "Tell her I'm coming."
Ivy nodded.
But he didn't move.
She stood there, waiting for a moment that didn't come.
"…Okay," she said again.
And walked back to the kitchen.
Her mother was still by the stove, stirring something that didn't need stirring anymore.
"They're coming," Ivy said.
Her mother didn't look up. "Of course they are."
Ivy lingered.
Just for a second.
Then she asked quietly, "Should I set the table?"
Her mother finally glanced at her, brief and assessing.
"You can," she said. "Since you're already here."
It wasn't said kindly. It wasn't said cruelly either.
It was said like a task being assigned to something that was always available.
Ivy moved to the cupboards.
Plates. Bowls. Cutlery.
She placed each one carefully on the table, aligning them the way she knew they liked it. Four seats. Always four.
Except no one had actually sat down yet.
Behind her, footsteps finally started to appear slow, reluctant, uneven.
The house was filling.
But somehow, it still felt empty.
Lucas came first, still looking at his phone, dropping into his seat without pulling it in properly. Matthew followed minutes later, loud and annoyed, still talking about how he "almost won" his match. Their father finally appeared last, rubbing his neck like even walking to the table had been tiring.
Their mother brought the last dish to the table and set it down in the center.
"Eat before it gets cold."
Chairs scraped against the floor.
Everyone sat.
Lucas reached for the serving spoon first without looking up from his phone. Matthew was still talking mid-sentence, waving his fork around dramatically.
"and then I swear I had him. One hit. One hit and my internet lagged."
"No one cares,"Lucas muttered.
Matthew kicked him lightly under the table.
"Shut up."
"I'm serious," Lucas said, finally looking up. "You talk about that game like it's a world championship."
"At least I do something besides scroll on my phone all day."
Their father sighed before the argument could rise any further.
"Enough."
Silence dropped over the table for all of three seconds.
Ivy sat in her usual seat near the end, hands folded in her lap beneath the table while everyone else served themselves first. Rice. Soup. Vegetables. Chicken.
By the time the serving bowl reached her, there was less left.
She took the little food she can get.
Her mother sat across from her, occasionally glancing over not with softness, but with something unreadable. Like she was still replaying the earlier conversation in her head.
Matthew kept talking between bites.
"Lucas," her mother said, her voice lighter now, almost warm. "How did the math test go?"
"Easy," he said between bites. "Probably got the highest in class."
"I told you," her mother said proudly, smiling.
Matthew immediately leaned forward. "Coach picked me for Saturday's starting team."
Their father nodded. "Good."
"I scored twice at practice."
"That's my boy."
Matthew grinned.
Lucas rolled his eyes.
Their mother laughed.
Ivy kept her eyes on her plate.
The conversation moved around her like she wasn't sitting there at all.
Her mother reached over to put another piece of chicken onto Matthew's plate.
"Eat more. You'll need energy if you're playing Saturday."
Matthew grinned. "Thanks, Mom."
Their father looked at Lucas.
"And your exam results come out next week?"
Lucas nodded. "Teacher already hinted I did well."
"Good," his father said, satisfaction plain in his voice. "Keep it up."
Ivy lifted her spoon and took a bite of rice that had already gone lukewarm.
No one asked her how school was.
No one asked why she was late.
No one asked why she looked exhausted.
Not even a glance.
She stood there for a second longer than necessary, like she was waiting for something anything to acknowledge she was still part of the room.
Nothing came.
"I'm not hungry anymore," she said quietly. Her voice wasn't dramatic. She picked up a bowl of food
And she head upstairs to Michael room, leaving the bowl of food down next to his door then walk to her own room. She opened the door and stepped into small bed, definitely not the huge bed her brothers have. She plopped onto the bed.Her arms rested loosely at her sides, her school bag still on the floor where she had dropped it like it was too heavy to carry one more second.
From downstairs, faint laughter rose again. A fork tapping a plate. Someone saying something about football. Someone else responding too loudly.
Life continuing.
Without her inside it.She reached in her pocket to take out the piece of paper Liam had given her.
It was still there.
A little more crumpled now from everything that had happened since she slid it in there. The edges were softer, like it had already started to lose its shape from being carried around too much
Ivy lay on her bed, staring at the crumpled piece of paper like it might change if she looked long enough.
Liam's number.
Just a string of digits, but it felt heavier than anything else in the room.
What would she even say?
Hi, I'm the girl your entire school is gossiping about because some random rich guy kissed me in public and now my family thinks I'm dating him even though I'm not… and also my house feels like I don't exist?
She let out a short breath through her nose. That sounded insane even in her own head.
Her thumb ran over the edge of the paper again. Once. Twice.
She could ignore it. That was easy. She was good at ignoring things lately people, comments, expectations, even the way her own chest tightened when her mother spoke like that.
But this…
This was different.
Because Liam hadn't looked at her like she was a story.
He hadn't looked at her like she was a problem to solve either.
He had just… looked.
Like she was a person sitting in front of him. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
From downstairs, a chair scraped. Laughter rose again. Her brother's voice cut through the house like it belonged there more than she did.
Ivy turned onto her side, staring at the wall instead.
Maybe she didn't need to say anything perfect.
Maybe she didn't need to say anything important at all.
Her phone sat face-down on the bed beside her. Silent. Heavy in its own way.
Slowly, almost like she wasn't fully deciding to do it, Ivy sat up.
She unfolded the paper again, smoothing it carefully against her knee as if that could fix how shaky she felt.
Then she typed the number into her phone.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
Call
Her heart gave a small, annoying jump.
"No," she whispered to herself immediately, locking the phone before she could change her mind.
Too fast. Too much. Too exposed.
She stared at the dark screen.
A second passed.
Then another.
Finally, she opened it again but instead of calling, she opened messages.
Her fingers paused over the keyboard.
What do you even text someone like him?
After everything?
She typed.
Stopped.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Stopped again.
Her brows furrowed slightly in frustration.
"…This is ridiculous," she muttered under her breath.
Then, finally, something simple stayed.
Hey. It's Ivy.
She stared at it.
That was it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing explaining her whole life. Nothing begging for help or pretending she was fine.
Just… her.
Her thumb hovered again.
Send.
For a moment, she couldn't breathe properly.
Then she pressed it.
The message disappeared into the void of the screen, leaving behind a strange silence that felt louder than anything downstairs.
Ivy dropped her phone onto the bed like it had burned her and flopped back onto the mattress, covering her face with her arm.
"What did I just do…" she whispered into the fabric.
Downstairs, someone laughed again.
But up here, for the first time all day, the noise didn't reach her the same way.
Because somewhere between fear and exhaustion…
She had chosen to be seen.
The phone lay on Ivy's bed like it was alive.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Mocking her a little.
She kept her arm over her face, breathing slowly, like if she stayed still enough she could undo what she just did.
Hey. It's Ivy.
That was it.
No explanation. No defense. No excuse.
Just her.
Minutes passed.
Or maybe seconds.
Time felt wrong in her room like it didn't know what to do with her either.
Then
Buzz.
Ivy's hand shot up so fast she almost knocked the phone off the bed.
She stared at it.
One new message.
Her heart dropped immediately.
She didn't open it.
Not yet.
"What if it's nothing?" she whispered to herself. "What if he just ignores it? Or thinks it's weird? Or"
Buzz again.
Two messages now.
That made it worse.
Her fingers tightened.
"…Okay," she exhaled sharply, like she was bracing for impact.
She unlocked it.
LIAM:
Hey.
That was it.
Just that.
No question marks. No hesitation. No judgment hiding behind punctuation.
Ivy blinked at the screen.
Another message appeared.
LIAM:
Are you okay?
Her throat tightened slightly.
She stared at it longer than she meant to.
Because the question wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't invasive.
It wasn't even assuming anything.
It was just… there.
Like he had left space for her to answer however she could.
Her thumb hovered.
She typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Then finally:
IVY:
Not really.
She sent it before she could overthink it.
The second it went through, she sat up again, heart thudding like she'd just jumped off something high.
Downstairs, a fork clinked against a plate.
Someone laughed at something on the TV.
Life kept going.
Her phone buzzed again.
Immediate.
LIAM:
Want to talk about it?
Ivy stared at the words.
That was too simple.
Too normal.
Too dangerous.
Because "talk about it" meant she would have to put it into sentences.
It meant giving it shape.
And once it had shape, it became real.
She pressed her lips together.
Typed:
IVY:
I don't even know where to start.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
He was typing fast.
LIAM:
Start wherever it feels easiest.
Ivy let out a small breath she didn't realize she was holding.
Her eyes drifted to her ceiling.
Easiest.
Nothing about her day had been easy.
But her fingers moved anyway.
IVY:
Everyone thinks I'm dating someone I'm not.
Pause.
Send.
Another pause.
IVY:
And my family believes it.
The response came slower this time.
Not long.
Just… careful.
LIAM:
The guy from this morning?
Ivy's jaw tightened slightly.
IVY:
Yes.
A beat.
LIAM:
That's messy.
Ivy almost laughed at that.
Messy.
That was one way to describe her life falling apart in public.
She stared at the screen, then typed:
IVY:
You think?
A tiny pause.
Then
LIAM:
Sorry. That came out wrong.
Ivy blinked.
That wasn't what she expected.
Another message followed.
LIAM:
I meant… I get why you'd feel trapped in it.
Her fingers slowed.
Her chest did something strange—tightened, then loosened again.
Like someone had noticed a knot she didn't even admit was there.
IVY:
I just don't like people deciding things about me.
LIAM:
Yeah.
One word.
No lecture. No correction.
Just agreement.
That made her stare at the screen longer than she should have.
From downstairs, footsteps moved briefly, then stopped again.
A door closed somewhere.
Upstairs, Ivy shifted slightly on her bed, pulling her knees closer to her chest without realizing it.
IVY:
It's worse at home.
She hesitated before sending it.
Then did anyway.
A longer pause this time.
The typing dots appeared… disappeared… then returned.
LIAM:
Do they usually listen to you?
Ivy stared at that.
Her fingers hovered.
Her throat tightened again but this time not from anger.
From recognition.
IVY:
Not really.
Silence.
Then:
LIAM:
That would make everything feel louder.
Ivy exhaled slowly.
That sentence hit something she didn't have words for.
Because that was exactly it.
Everything felt louder when no one acknowledged it.
Even silence.
Her phone buzzed again.
LIAM:
You don't have to explain everything right now.
Just breathe for a bit.
Ivy stared at the last message.
Just breathe for a bit.
Like it was something she was allowed to do.
Like she didn't have to earn it.
Her grip on the phone loosened slightly.
For the first time that day, her shoulders dropped not fully, not completely, but enough to notice.
She typed slowly.
IVY:
Why are you being nice to me?
She almost deleted it after.
But it was too late.
Sent.
The reply came quicker than she expected.
LIAM:
Because you seem like you need someone who isn't making things harder.
Ivy froze.
Her eyes stayed on the screen.
No pressure.
No expectations.
No hidden angle.
Just that.
Her phone rested against her palm, warm now.
Downstairs, laughter rose again—but it felt further away this time.
Ivy leaned back against her pillow, staring at the ceiling instead of the wall.
And for the first time since everything started unraveling…
She didn't feel like she was holding it all alone.
Ivy kept staring at Liam's last message until the screen dimmed.
Then went black.
Her reflection faintly stared back at her.
Tired eyes.
Loose hair falling across her face.
A girl who looked like she hadn't slept properly in days.
She unlocked the phone again.
The light hit her face softly, almost too softly for how loud her thoughts felt.
Her thumb hovered over Liam's chat.
No new messages.
Just the last one sitting there like it hadn't moved at all.
Because you seem like you need someone who isn't making things harder.
Ivy swallowed.
That was the problem.
People usually did make things harder.
Even when they didn't mean to.
Especially when they got close enough to matter.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
She typed.
Stopped.
Deleted.
Typed again.
IVY:
You don't even know me properly.
She stared at it.
Then sent it before she could soften it.
Almost immediately, the three dots appeared.
He was there.
Waiting.
Like he had nothing else to do.