I didn't go to school the next day.
Not because I was sick — at least not the kind anyone could check with a thermometer — but because I couldn't imagine walking through those halls with my head held high after what happened the night before.
The relaxer box was still in the trash. I'd seen it that morning, half-crushed, peeking up from the corner like some final insult. A reminder that no matter how polite I was or how tightly I tied my puff, there were still people in this world who looked at me and saw something that needed fixing.
I texted Noah.
Me: Not going in today. I just… need space.
Noah: You can have space. But not distance. Come over.
I hesitated. Then packed my laptop, a hoodie, and my softest sweatpants into a tote bag and told my mom I was "hanging with friends." She didn't ask questions. She barely looked up from her phone. I don't know why I bother with her anyways
---
When I got to Noah's, Liwei greeted me in Pokémon pajamas, gave me a hug, then vanished.
Noah opened the door to his room and stepped aside like I was royalty. "Come in, Your Majesty."
I smirked. "Flattery won't get you out of movie night."
He gestured dramatically. "Would Your Majesty prefer Netflix or emotionally devastating indie films?"
I walked in and flopped onto his bed. "Anything with subtitles and trauma."
He tossed me a pillow. "Say less."
The room felt cozy with posters of famous scientists such a typical nerd I said under my breath it smelled like clean laundry and vanilla lotion — soft and quiet. Like him.
We didn't speak for the first half hour. Just watched some artsy French movie while sharing a blanket. His laptop sat between us, and our shoulders brushed occasionally.
At some point, I realized I'd stopped thinking about Mrs. Zhang. I wasn't thinking about my hair or my stepdad or what I was supposed to do next. I was just... breathing.
---
Halfway through the second movie, he closed the laptop and turned toward me.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No," I said automatically. Then sighed. "Alright fine."
He waited. No pressure. No hovering.
"She gave me relaxer," I whispered. "Like... as a gift."
He nodded slowly. "I saw."
"And I know it's just a box. I've gotten worse from strangers believe me. I've heard worse from people who pretend to care. But I thought— I thought I was doing everything right, you know? I tied my hair back. I wore sleeves. I said please and thank you. I smiled through everything like a good girl. And it still wasn't enough."
Noah's jaw clenched.
I swallowed hard. "And maybe it shouldn't matter, but it did. It does. Because for five seconds, I let myself imagine belonging. And then she reminded me I was just... visiting."
Noah leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "You weren't visiting."
I looked at him. "Well I'm not your mom's idea of a daughter-in-law."
He laughed under his breath. "Who says I'm marrying you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Fake-boyfriend confidence."
His smile faded slowly. "She's... complicated. My mom, I mean."
I said nothing.
"She wasn't always like that," he added. "She used to be softer. But after Dad lost his voice, she kind of became... armor."
"What happened to him?" I asked quietly.
"Car accident," Noah said. "He was a musician. Played the erhu. Then one night, boom. Gone. Vocal cords damaged beyond repair. He hasn't spoken in ten years."
I blinked. "That's... awful."
"Yeah. She had to start working full-time. Took on two jobs for a while. Became the provider. It hardened her. I don't excuse it, but I understand it."
I nodded slowly. "So, hurting other women is part of her healing process?"
Noah winced. "I said I understand it. Not that I like it."
Silence stretched again.
"I'm tired," I admitted, voice raw. "Of explaining myself. Of proving I'm worth basic respect."
"You shouldn't have to," he said. "I'm sorry you feel that way."
I looked over. "You're the only one who's said that."
Noah met my gaze. "Because I mean it."
We held that moment for too long.
Too long for fake.
---
Somewhere in the house, a door creaked.
I pulled away, suddenly aware of how close we were. My head had been leaning against his shoulder. His hand was still half-tangled in the blanket beside mine.
The door to his room opened without warning.
His mother stood there.
She froze at the sight of me in his bed — not under the covers, but still, the implication was heavy.
I froze too. Noah didn't.
"We're watching movies," he said evenly. "She didn't want to be alone today."
Mrs. Zhang's eyes moved between us. I could see the questions forming.
Then she saw my face. My red, tired eyes. The slight smudge of makeup under them. My curls, a little frizzier now from laying down, but still proudly mine.
Her expression softened.
Just a flicker. Barely noticeable. But it was there.
"I see," she said. "Dinner's at seven."
She turned and walked away.
No lecture. No passive-aggressive comment. Just… dinner.
---
Later that evening, Noah knocked on the door of the guest room I was staying in.
"She left something outside your door," he said.
I opened it to find a mug of warm tea on a small tray — ginger and honey.
No note. No words.
But it was something.