Chapter Four — A Child Among Shadows of Love

At the age of nine, Acacia returned once more to the boarding school which is different from the previous one. The gates that had once swallowed her childhood now opened to her again, this time not as the smallest, pitied child, but as a girl beginning to grow.

The loneliness of her first years had shaped her into someone sharper than before. She had learned to observe, to measure people’s expressions, to understand when to stay silent and when to step back. She was still quiet, but no longer fragile. The pain of her past had carved her into a child who knew how to protect herself — not with fists or words, but with awareness.

This boarding was a new environment, and she adapted quickly. She made friends, studied harder, and moved through her days with the caution of someone who had already seen too much of life’s unfairness. Among her classmates were boys who admired her silently. Some stood by her side, shielding her from small cruelties, offering food when hers was gone, or walking beside her when loneliness tried to creep in. Their care was hidden in these gestures, though their hearts longed for more. But there are also people who backbite her. They would sometimes beat her and mentally torture her, hiding her notebooks where won't be able to find. Even in that situation she doesn't complain to anyone nor ask for help. She went through that silently as if standing against the fate with gritting teeth.

By nine, she even received her first proposal.

It startled her — how could someone so young speak of something as big as “love”? She laughed it off, treating it lightly, like an invitation to friendship. And when others confessed much later, near the end of their sessions, she reacted the same way. For she did not yet know what love meant. She saw classmates exchange notes, sneak glances, whisper sweet nonsense, but to her it all felt empty, like a play acted out by children. Love, she believed, was something else entirely, though she could not name it yet.

At ten, she remained in the same boarding, sharper and stronger, but still enduring the challenges that life placed before her. Yet among her classmates, one girl stood out to her — not because she disliked her, but because of what she represented. She was the daughter of another teacher. Every day, her mother would come to the with her, eating lunch together with some otherteachersand her two more daughter friends, adjusting her hair, fussing over her clothes, checking on her studies. The female lead would watch from the side, her heart tightening.

How desperately she wanted that.

Someone to ask her if she had eaten. Someone to tuck her hair behind her ears. Someone to stand at the gates, waiting only for her. Watching her classmate being cared for was like pressing on an open wound. She was not angry at the girl — no, she was jealous of the love she saw, jealous of the presence she longed for but had never known. That sight alone made her ache in silence, clutching the emptiness inside her chest.

Then, at eleven, everything changed.

She entered Class Six, but with it came a new boarding school — and a new kind of suffering.

There, she fell under the control of a teacher who saw her not as a student but as a servant. Day after day, she was sent to run errands instead of being allowed to study. The teacher would summon her for tasks — carrying things, running messages, and even massaging her after long days. Time that should have belonged to books and learning was stolen from her, consumed by someone who exploited her obedience.

In front of her parents, this teacher put on a different face — speaking sweet words, pretending to care, painting herself as a guide and protector. But behind closed doors, the truth was far harsher.

The teacher favored the boys openly, giving them attention, opportunities, and freedom, while the girls were dismissed, taken lightly, treated as though their futures mattered less. And for her, singled out for errands, it was worse.

The bitterness of envy mixed with her loneliness, teaching her another lesson: love was not just about sweet words or proposals. Sometimes, it was simply being wanted, being chosen, being cared for. And that was what she craved the most.

So, she endured.

She endured the errands, the unfairness, the favoritism, and the quiet sting of jealousy, while carrying her longing like a secret only she knew.

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