The weight of unspoken words.

The school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Students flooded out of classrooms, some chatting excitedly about their day, others lost in their own thoughts. Seoyeon was one of the quiet ones, her steps slow and steady as she walked through the school gates. Her sister, as usual, was silent beside her. The air was cooler than it had been in the morning, the sun already beginning to dip below the horizon.

Their father was waiting for them by the school gate, his tired eyes softening when he saw his daughters. Seoyeon’s silence felt like a quiet echo in the cool afternoon, but her father was used to it.

“How was your first day?” he asked, his voice full of genuine curiosity.

Seoyeon, along with her sister, answered in unison, “Good.”

As they made their way back home, the streets of Mokhwa seemed more familiar now, though Seoyeon still felt like a stranger to them. The familiar gray of their home came into view. Their family lived in a small room attached to the metal craft workshop where their father worked. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had. Inside, the flickering lights of kerosene lamps illuminated their modest living space. At night, the world around them was cloaked in darkness, save for the small glow of the candles that always seemed to burn too dimly to offer any warmth.

Her mother and father were preparing dinner over the stove, the low hum of the kerosene stove filling the room as they cooked together. The smell of simple food—rice, kimchi, and whatever else could be made from the little they had—drifted through the air.

They ate together in silence, the clinking of chopsticks the only sound besides the occasional hum of conversation. After dinner, they finished their chores in the dim light, and then one by one, they drifted to bed. The room was small, and there were only two beds—one where Seoyeon’s parents and sister slept, and another where Seoyeon slept alone. It was cramped, but it was home.

Lying in her bed that night, Seoyeon stared up at the dark ceiling, the room thick with silence. Her thoughts wandered to the events of the day. The school… could she survive here? She wanted to fit in. She needed to belong. She whispered softly to herself, “The students at this school… they’re actually kind. Maybe this will bring me some happiness.”

Her thoughts spiraled, imagining the days ahead, hoping they’d be better. Eventually, the steady rhythm of her thoughts gave way to sleep, the quiet of the room wrapping around her like a blanket.

In the dead of night, Seoyeon’s father quietly stirred awake, his tired eyes blinking in the darkness. The others were deep in sleep, but he had to go to work. With a tired grunt, he rose and left the room, joining the other workers in the workshop. The sounds of his footsteps faded into the night, leaving only silence behind.

Morning arrived sooner than Seoyeon expected. The room felt cold and still, but soon, her mother’s gentle voice woke her and her sister. It was time for another day of school. Seoyeon was silent, but inside, she felt something shift. She wasn’t sure if it was the small kindness from her classmates or the quiet comfort of the familiar routine, but something had changed. She was starting to feel like she was part of something—just a small piece in a much larger puzzle.

As they walked toward the school, Seoyeon’s mind buzzed with thoughts of her new friends. Maybe this could be different, she thought, Maybe they’ll be my real friends. The way they had talked to her with kindness, the way they had welcomed her—it felt like a breath of fresh air.

When they arrived at the school gates, Seoyeon’s mother stopped to speak with the principal. Seoyeon’s heart sank as she heard the words “tuition” spoken. Her parents couldn’t always be there to pick them up, and the cost of their schooling was a burden on the family. The weight of the word pressed down on Seoyeon’s chest, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice her thoughts. She couldn’t argue with her parents.

She looked at her sister, who seemed oblivious to the tension. Seoyeon felt a pang of sadness, a heaviness she didn’t know how to express. She had wanted so much more for herself, but the reality of her situation was clear.

Her mother turned to her with a soft smile, but Seoyeon couldn’t bring herself to smile back. Instead, she looked away, her thoughts drifting again to the future, to the dreams she had quietly buried deep inside.

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