Morning arrived quietly.
Coyln woke before her alarm, the pale gray light slipping through the edges of her curtains. For a moment, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe—pipes settling, distant traffic, the soft hum of a world already moving without her.
She sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes.
Another day.
She dressed in her uniform with practiced efficiency, smoothing the fabric, straightening her collar, tying her hair the same way she always did. Nothing changed. Change required intention, and Coyln didn't have the energy for that yet.
She grabbed her bag and stepped out of her room, the hallway cool against her bare arms. As she headed toward the kitchen, the smell she expected—rice, eggs, something warm—never came.
The kitchen was empty.
No clatter of dishes. No low humming. No warmth lingering in the air.
Coyln stopped just inside the doorway.
"Mom?" she called softly.
Silence answered her.
She walked further in, eyes scanning the counters and stove. Everything was clean. Too clean. No plates. No covered pan. No bento box sitting neatly on the counter with a small note tucked beside it.
Coyln's shoulders sank almost imperceptibly.
She checked the fridge anyway, opening it slowly as if food might appear out of obligation. Inside, there was little more than leftovers from the night before—nothing quick, nothing meant for mornings.
She closed the fridge.
Her mother must have stayed at her grandmother's house again. Coyln told herself she understood. She always did.
She checked the time.
If she cooked now, she'd be late.
Coyln exhaled quietly, slipped on her shoes, and left the house without eating.
She didn't realize she had forgotten her bento box until much later.
The walk to school felt longer than usual. Her stomach felt light, hollow, but she ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm of her steps and the weight of her bag against her back.
At the next corner, voices drifted toward her.
Familiar ones.
Coyln slowed unconsciously.
Milly came into view first, silver hair catching the morning sun, her uniform worn effortlessly. John walked beside her, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed like he owned the path beneath his feet.
They looked like they belonged together.
"Coyln!" Milly called when she noticed her. "Good morning!"
Coyln straightened. "Morning."
They fell into step together, Milly between them, chatting easily.
"I was worried you might be tired after yesterday," Milly said. "You were really quiet."
"I'm always quiet," Coyln replied lightly.
Milly laughed. "That's true."
John glanced at Coyln briefly, then looked away.
In his mind, his thoughts ran sharp and unfiltered.
She really is plain, he thought, eyes flicking over her without warmth. Always standing there like she doesn't know what to do with herself. Milly's friend, huh? Doesn't even match her pace.
Coyln talked too little. Walked too stiffly. Her presence felt awkward, like an extra chair no one needed.
Why does Milly even hang out with her? he wondered. She drags the mood down.
Outwardly, his expression remained neutral.
Coyln answered Milly's questions, nodded at the right times, her voice soft but steady. She didn't notice the way John barely acknowledged her, didn't see the way his eyes slid past her as if she were part of the background.
When the school gates came into view, Coyln felt her chest tighten.
Here.
This was where they would separate.
"Well, I'll see you later!" Milly said cheerfully, adjusting her bag.
John nodded. "Yeah. See you."
Coyln forced a small smile. "See you."
She stepped away first, her pace quickening as she headed toward the first-year building. She didn't look back.
Behind her, Milly continued talking, her laughter drifting faintly through the morning air.
Coyln gripped her bag strap tighter.
She hadn't eaten. She'd forgotten her lunch. And yet, what weighed on her most wasn't hunger—it was the growing certainty that she was slowly becoming someone easy to leave behind.
As she entered the school grounds, the bell rang.
Another day had begun.