"I am not afraid of loneliness…I am afraid of a hug that brings pain."
The evening sky was a masterpiece in motion, its orange glow slowly fading into soft shades of gold. The dying sun kissed the flowers one last time, making their petals glimmer like they were holding on to the light. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blossoms, mingling with the colors of the fading day.
On a wooden bench beneath the shade, a girl sat in silence. Her gaze drifted far beyond the garden, past the horizon, as though searching for something that had long slipped from her grasp. Her lips were pressed together tightly, as if sealing away words she could never allow herself to say.
Her eyes lingered on the couples walking side by side, hands entwined, their smiles speaking a language only the two of them could understand. Not far away, a family laughed together—the sound bright and careless, floating in the evening air like music she could never dance to.
She did not despise them. How could she? All that lived within her was a quiet envy—an ache for something others held so easily, yet always lay impossibly out of reach for her.That afternoon should have been beautiful, but the sunset only reminded her of everything she had never known.
Then, a sudden sting. Pain flared in her palm.Blood welled up, slipping from a wound that had appeared without warning. It was born not of injury, but of longing—the cruel price of wishing for a family she could never embrace, a warmth she could only keep alive in her heart.
She rose quickly, hiding her trembling hand as blood dripped onto the path. Her hurried steps carried her back to her apartment, back to the silence that had long become her only companion.
Inside, she reached for the medicine she had used countless times before, cleaning the wound with mechanical care. It was then her phone lit up with a message.
At first, she wanted to turn away. But when she saw the name on the screen, her hands shook as she opened it.
Mom: Serra, how are you, dear?
Mom: Are you okay?
Mom: Don't forget to eat, alright?
Mom: I'm sorry for sending this, but I miss you.
Mom: I'm sorry if I ever hurt you, but I miss my child.
Mom: I really want to see you.
Mom: Forgive me if I'm being selfish.
Mom: I love you, Serra, no matter what happens.
Her tears spilled before she could stop them. She missed her mother too—missed her more than life itself. She longed for her embrace, for the warmth she had dreamed of a thousand times, yet could never truly hold. Not because of distance. Not because of time. But because of herself.
She did not care if her body broke apart. All she wanted—more than anything—was for her mother to know.
Serra: Serra misses Mom. Serra loves Mom too. Serra wants to see Mom.
But as the words left her, the bleeding grew worse. The wound tore deeper, spreading like fire under her skin, as if her body itself screamed that this was love she must never confess.
Serra Nadiva Eloraine had carried this curse all her life. It was not something that appeared in time—it had bound her since she was three years old, the day she whispered with innocent lips: "I love you, Mom."
The first wound appeared then. At first, they thought it was nothing. Just a scratch, a mark. But with every expression of love, fresh wounds carved themselves into her body, as though affection were venom flowing in her blood.
Now, staring at her blood-stained hand, she felt every drop whisper the same cruel command: You must not love. Not anyone.
The bleeding would not stop. The ache traveled from her palm to her chest, cutting deeper than flesh, sinking straight into her heart.
She collapsed onto the sofa, the weight of her grief pressing down harder than the pain itself. Her breath came shallow, her eyelids heavy. The cold of the night seeped into her bones.
As her eyes closed, Serra prayed—not for the pain to end, but for tomorrow to come without new wounds.But she did not know… her dreams would carry her back, to a place where love and sorrow first began