"You can only carry silence for so long before it cuts you open."
---
It started with a phone call.
Just one.
A short buzz in the middle of class, a name that flashed across Mio's phone screen for a single second before she tucked it under her desk and forced a smile.
But Hana saw it.
She saw Mio's fingers tremble.
And more importantly — she saw the name.
Mother.
---
After School — Present Day
They walked home together that afternoon, like they had done the past few days. Hana talked quietly about an embarrassing moment from her literature class. Normally, Mio would have laughed, at least a little.
But not today.
Today she was too quiet — her eyes far off, her hands gripping her bag like it was a shield.
"Mio," Hana said, gently. "You're shaking."
"No, I'm fine."
"You always say that."
"I always am."
It wasn't defensive.
It was resigned.
Hana didn't push. But inside, her thoughts were screaming.
---
Flashback — Middle School, Last Year
Hana remembered the way Mio would always hesitate before saying "I'm going home." Like it wasn't a place she wanted to return to.
She remembered one time Mio had come to school with a bruise on her wrist. She'd said she fell during archery practice.
She remembered believing her.
She remembered not asking.
And then, years later, she remembered the obituary that never mentioned a family name. The funeral where no parents spoke. The whispers.
This time, Hana would ask.
---
Morning — The Next Day
Mio arrived late to school.
Just five minutes.
But when she entered the classroom, her hair slightly messy and her expression hollow, Hana knew something was wrong.
Mio didn't sit beside her like usual.
She walked straight to her desk by the window, head low.
At lunch, she didn't come.
---
After Classes — Rooftop
Hana found her there, seated with her back against the railing, eyes red and tired.
"I knocked," Hana said softly.
"No one was home," Mio murmured.
"Figured you'd be here."
A pause.
"I didn't eat lunch," Mio added.
"I noticed."
Hana sat down beside her and gently offered half her bento. Mio didn't refuse.
They ate in silence for a while.
Then Mio spoke.
"My mother called me yesterday. She's coming home next week."
Hana said nothing.
"She works a lot. Travels. Comes back when it's convenient. Sometimes I don't see her for months."
"Does she live with you?"
"Technically. But she's more like a shadow. One that only appears when the lights are brightest — when there's something to criticize."
A bitter laugh.
"She texted me this morning. Asked why my club scores haven't improved. Said I better not embarrass the Katagiri name this year."
"Mio…"
"I'm not allowed to mess up. Not when she's watching."
---
Evening — Hana's Research
That night, Hana sat at her desk with her laptop open. She began to dig.
Katagiri Ayaka — Mio's mother — was a well-known name in the corporate world. She held a senior position in a national marketing firm. Several news articles praised her as a "self-made powerwoman," a single mother who raised a "gifted daughter."
But something caught Hana's attention: the phrasing.
> "Maintains a tight household."
"Strong emphasis on performance."
"No tolerance for mediocrity."
"Her daughter, Mio Katagiri, has followed closely in her disciplined footsteps."
Every word was polished.
Every quote from Ayaka was about Mio's achievements, not Mio herself.
No mentions of warmth. No stories. No photos together. Just expectations.
Hana's hands curled into fists.
> "You're allowed to mess up, Mio. You're human."
She stared at Mio's name in a headline and whispered:
"You don't have to be perfect to be loved."
---
The Breaking Point — Two Days Later
It happened in the archery range.
Mio had been under pressure all week. Midterms were looming. Her mother was due back. The club had a ranking match.
And she missed her mark.
Four times.
In front of everyone.
The captain said something — Hana didn't catch it, but it must've hit a nerve.
Because Mio dropped her bow.
Everyone stared.
And then Mio began to shake.
"Mio?" Hana asked.
Mio didn't look at her.
She didn't look at anyone.
She turned away, fast, and walked out of the range with short, uneven steps.
Hana followed.
She found Mio in the equipment shed, sitting on the floor, hands clutched to her chest like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart.
"Mio…"
"I'm fine," she whispered, over and over. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
"You're not."
"I can't—I can't be like this—I'm supposed to—supposed to—"
"You're allowed to fall," Hana said, kneeling down and gently taking Mio's hands. "You're allowed to break."
Mio looked at her, wide-eyed, tears finally spilling over.
"No one's ever let me," she whispered. "Not even once."
And then she cried.
Fully, completely.
And Hana held her.
No words.
No explanations.
Just arms that didn't let go.
---
Late That Night — Text Message
From Mio:
> Thank you. For being there.
I was so afraid you'd leave too.
I don't think I can do this alone anymore.
From Hana:
> You're not alone.
I won't leave. Not now. Not ever again.
---
End of Chapter 6
---