Work Text:
Empty. Is it possible to feel empty? I mean it’s not like there was anything wrong in my life… So why am I feeling so empty? Not happiness. Nor sadness. Just numb?
Lena had lost count of how many times she had thought this over the past year. She wanted to get help but it was like she didn’t truly believe in it. Any time she was asked “Are you okay?” all she’d respond with was, “Yes, I am.” Because it didn’t matter what she said. Everyone had their own lives. Even if she did say something, people are busy. They have their own problems… why should she burden them with hers?
The environment Lena lived in wasn’t what you’d call quiet. It was loud. Louder than Lena preferred. But even in the noise Lena never ceased to feel alone. From the other room, her parents’ voices rose and fell. This was a constant in Lena’s life. Sometimes plates fell, sometimes cutlery, most of the time loud voices. Doors slammed 24/7 sounding like thunder. It was a minefield she walked in. Counting her steps, tiptoeing around her own house. Making sure she didn’t do anything to make their anger worse. Usually, she’d flinch at every given thing. However, recently it didn’t bother her anymore.
She was sat at the edge of her bed, staring at a wall, feeling like a hollow shell. Her headphones helped drain the noise. That was what she’d learnt in her 18 years of living. However the comfort she felt in sad slow songs only made her feel more numb. If she got yelled at, she would just nod. If they ignored her, she would stay silent. It didn’t matter. It didn’t reach her anymore. This is what they wanted right? A daughter who says yes when they want, a punching bag for whenever they can’t handle their emotions.
She looked around her room, as the music started to painfully hurt her ears, yet she still didn’t remove her earphones. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her body grieving physically while her mind still struggled to comprehend any emotions.
She saw her packed bags in the corner of her room. She’d be gone for the whole year. Uni was supposed to be a fresh start. A place where Lena didn’t have to be scared or worried. A place she could rest. Yet there was no excitement. Not a single bone in her body felt happy. It felt more like an obligation to go than something she wanted to do. She had no plans for the future yet the constant pressure to do well, to be something ate her alive.
Lena wasn’t a stupid or dumb kid. But she wasn’t someone who excelled either. She was average. Just above passing grades. Nothing special. Maybe her environment should’ve been the push factor to help her rise. But all it did was push her down. As a child however she did excel. She won awards, medals, and certificates. However along the way, her spark died down. From a happy little child, she became quieter. Someone more reserved. Someone who didn’t trust anyone. A child full of insecurities.
Lena felt tired. Even the thought of leaving felt like a chore she didn’t have the energy for. She wondered if this is all she’d feel. Would the new environment even help? Or would she be stuck with this baggage on her shoulders? Was it even possible to leave a feeling behind when the feeling was actually… nothing?
Every time either of her parents walked past her room and made a comment about her “laziness” or about how “useless,” she was, Lena just stared. There was no fire left to fight back. There was no will to prove her worth. No tears left to cry. Just a dull, aching pressure in her chest which told her to stay still. Stay quiet. Don’t be a burden. If she stayed small enough, if she could behave like a little mouse in the corner, then maybe she could disappear before actually having to leave.
She reached for her phone, seeing a notification from a group chat she hadn’t opened in days. She was just there for decoration most of the time. Just a little “oh yeah we added you we’re still friends”. Nobody really made an effort to meet up with her or talk to her. Why did she have to be the one to contact first? So she didn’t. And that’s when it all stopped. People didn’t contact her anymore, nor did they feel her presence fade away. They all had their own lives, their own fun. Lena couldn’t reach out and ask for help or a shoulder to lean on. Why would they care about the girl who had nothing left to say anyways?
The next morning came with the same heavy, grey feeling as the night before. Music still faintly playing next to her ears as the earphones had died down and the music continued playing softly near her. Battery percentage at 1 just like what Lena’s own emotional percentage felt at. Lena didn’t feel like she had enough sleep, but it didn’t feel like she could get any more either. She didn’t want any more. Sleep wasn’t an escape, it felt like her own burden. It was burdening to stay awake, to sleep, to eat, to even breathe. Maybe it would be better if she wasn’t there. By there Lena meant the earth. She wanted to stop existing for a while. No expectations, no burdens, no this, no that.
The house was already vibrating with tension, with cabinets banging like her personal alarm clock, as Lena stepped out of her room. It was her last day here, yet it felt like she was only leaving one place to enter another. There was no “goodbye,” or an “I’ll miss this place,” just a duty she had to do. Leave, graduate, come back and the cycle continues.
She stood up and dragged her suitcase down the stairs towards the door. Each wheel’s click against the floorboard felt like a countdown, which Lena wasn’t counting. She was just moving. Her mother was in the hallway, waiting for the kettle to stop boiling for her tea. She looked at Lena with a familiar, tired disappointment.
“So you’re actually going,” her mother said rather than asked*, with a dry yet sharp voice, “Don’t think that just because you’re at uni you can just slack off. We aren’t paying for you to sit in a room and do nothing. You have to graduate, find a good job and then provide for us the same way we did while you were growing up.”
Lena didn’t argue. She didn’t remind her that she had worked days and days on end with multiple jobs just to be able to provide for herself. She didn’t remind her that she hadn’t asked for a single cent. She didn’t remind her that her grades were the reason she was actually surviving in this household. She didn’t remind her how she barely got the bare minimum and how a child doesn’t just need food and shelter to grow. But if that was what her mum called providing then Lena wasn’t one to argue. She just nodded.
“I know,” she said quietly, voice barely above a whisper so that it could still be heard yet it didn’t feel like she was breaking the air. It was the safest answer she knew. It was the only answer which ended the conversation.
The car ride to the train station was a blur. It didn’t take long since her parents couldn’t be bothered to send her all the way to her campus. Yet still, her father drove in a stony silence, his grip tight on the steering wheel, radiating an anger that Lena had long ago stopped trying to decode. When they finally pulled up to the station, there was no hug, no be careful, no encouraging messages before a final goodbye.
“Call us when you’re settled,” her father said, not even looking at her as he popped open the trunk. “And don’t get into trouble.”
“I won’t,” Lena replied. Same tone as she used with her mother. Something which gave a response and ended the conversation in 2 words.
She stood on the pavement, the smell of exhaust fumes and city dampness clinging to her clothes as the car pulled away. It didn’t feel like a movie. There was no slow-motion wave, no lump in her throat. She just felt smaller. Like a piece of furniture they had finally decided to move into storage.
The train ride was long, but Lena didn’t mind the hours. It just gave her an excuse to look outside the window and look at the scenery and nature. Even though no thoughts came to her and her brain felt like an abandoned house. The world blurred into a streak of green and grey. People around her moved, talked, interacted. Some students happily chatting away about their excitement in going to a new place and how they were scared to leave home, some people reading books, and some just on their phones casually scrolling.
Everyone’s thoughts felt loud, but she felt like she was trapped in a bubble of thin glass. She could see them, but their excitement didn’t have enough weight to break through to her.
By the time she reached campus, her shoulders ached from the weight of her bags. The university looked like a castle, one which she could easily get lost in. It all felt too big for someone like her. Being there in person felt more real, more raw, like an extra baggage landing on her shoulders weighing her down. She looked around. Maybe she shouldn’t have. But she did. She saw students with their partners, students being helped, students being hugged and sent off happily with a few tears.
Lena just adjusted the strap of her heavy bag and kept her head down. She didn’t have that warmth. She just had her old suitcase and herself. Just barely.
The dorm room door clicked shut behind her, but the sound didn’t bring the relief Lena was expecting. It should’ve felt like something new. Instead, it felt like being sealed inside a different kind of box.
She stood in the centre of the large room, her suitcase still standing by the door like an invited guest. The silence here was a heavy contrast to the silence back home. Home was a charged silence. Thick, heavy, and vibrating with the threat of what was coming next. This silence was thin and hollow. It was the silence of a place that didn’t know her name yet.
She walked over to the bed on the right. It wasn’t because she preferred being on the right. It was because it was the furthest from the main door. Almost a survival instinct where should could get a few extra seconds of warning if someone decided to barge in.
Lena began to unpack, her movements calculated, robotic. She folded her shirts with sharp, precise edges, tucking them into the drawers as if she were trying to hide them. Every time she heard a faint door slammed in the hallway or a group of student laugh, loudly enough to pierce through the walls, outside, Lena’s shoulders hiked up to her ears. A nervous cold sweat at the back of her neck, like it was her body remembering. Her heart would hammer against her ribs, making her chest ache in ways she didn’t know how to control, waiting for the shouting to start.
But it never did. There was just the distant hum of a vending machine down the hall.
By the third day, the other half of the apartment remained empty. Her roommate was a ghost, a name on a piece of paper she hadn’t met. Lena found herself staring at the empty bed for hours. Part of her was relieved; another person meant another set of eyes, another person to disappoint, another person whose moods she would have to learn to navigate like a sailor watching for a storm.
Yet, the emptiness was starting to feel like a mirror.
She went to her first few lectures, always arriving early so she could get a seat in the back corner. She watched the back of people’s heads. She watched a girl three rows down, a girl with a pastel yellow cardigan and a perfectly done messy bun, who seemed to be the centre of a small, glowing universe. That girl, whose named Lena learned was Miu, didn’t just sit; she occupied the space. She leaned back, she stretched, she whispered to her friend with a wide, toothy grin.
Lena felt like she was watching a movie in a language she didn’t understand with no subtitles. How do you just… exist like that? Lena wondered, her fingers tracing the frayed edge of her hoodie. How does one breathe without checking if they’re taking up too much air?
Back in the dorm that evening, the “nothing” was back. Lena sat at her desk, the lamp casting a harsh, lonely circle of light over her notebook. She hadn’t turned on the main light, it felt too sharp, something she wasn’t ready to have in her life after getting a somewhat safe space back. The dim light was safer. It meant she was harder to see. It was an escape she didn’t realise she had. She was in the shadows again but this time nothing was attacking her.
She reached for her phone. There were no missed calls. No “did you get there okay?” texts. Just the cold glow of a lock screen showing 20:00 and a battery percentage of 35%.
She felt the urge to cry, but the tears stayed somewhere behind her ribs. She wanted to cry but her tears didn’t co-operate with her. Her throat felt dry. Somewhere it felt like her body had just given up on the tears completely. Even she was too tired to feel sad. She just felt like a shadow that had lost the person it was supposed to follow. She climbed onto her bed, not bothering to change, and pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She stared at the ceiling as the silence of the room settled over her, but inside her head, the plates were still breaking. The voices were still rising. She closed her eyes and waited for a tomorrow which still felt exactly like yesterday.
The first week of university felt less like a beginning and more like a long, slow exhale which Lena didn’t quite trust. She moved through the campus like a ghost, mastering the art of being invisible in plain sight.
Every morning followed a rigid, silent script. She would wake up before the sun was fully up and go take a shower, even though she had the shower all to herself in the room since there was no roommate. The sound of her own footsteps in the room felt like a transgression, too loud, too present. She’d hurry back to her side of the room, eat a granola bar, and wait.
She attended every lecture, but she never spoke. She became an expert on the back of Miu’s head. From three rows back, Miu was a constant. On Wednesday, Miu had a green ribbon in her hair. On Friday, she wore a sweater that was like a soft, blue cloud. Miu was always surrounded by a hum of activity. Always borrowing a pen, sharing a snack, laughing at a joke Lena couldn’t quite hear.
Lena watched her with a mixture of awe and exhaustion. To Lena, Miu looked expensive. Not in a way which meant money or wealth, but in the way she moved. She moved like she had never been told she’s a burden, she moved like she owned the very air she breathed.
Lena, meanwhile, kept her air usage to a minimum.
By the second week, Lena had almost convinced herself she could live like this forever. A life of quiet libraries and dim dorm rooms. No one yelled at her for the way she sat. No one called her useless for wanting to be alone. No one called her a burden just for getting some water. No one made her feel like her existence was the problem.
But the “nothing” inside of her was growing. It was a cold, hollow ache that made her limbs feel like lead. She would sit in the library for hours, staring at a single page of a textbook. Not because she didn’t understand but because it all felt like words. Words on a paper she couldn’t comprehend. Words she read but it felt like once she read the second line, she forgot the first. She wasn’t slacking off, she just couldn’t find what would help her in understanding, in functioning.
One evening, while walking back to the dorms, she saw a girl being hugged by her mother near a parked car. The mother was fussing over the girl’s coat, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, her face full of soft, uncomplicated worry.
Lena stopped walking. She felt a sudden, sharp pain in her chest, like a physical blow. It wasn’t jealousy, more like a profound sense of wrongness. She felt like some weird creature observing a ritual she was never invited to join. She quickly looked down, adjusting the heavy strap of her bag until it bruised her shoulder, and hurried towards the safety of the shadows.
A couple days had passed since the incident and Lena was sitting on the floor back rested against her bed as she read a book. Casually reading even though she wasn’t interested in doing so, on a bright Tuesday afternoon however she didn’t realise that as the curtains were drawn shut to keep the world out. She felt suspended in time, drifting in that familiar grey sea where nothing could reach her.
Then, the door handle turned.
It wasn’t a tentative turn. It was firm, confident.
Lena’s body reacted before her mind did. She scrambled to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat, her breath hitching in a jagged sob she didn’t realise was there. She stood there frozen. Her fight and flight activating her freeze. Hands clenched into fists, eyes wide and fixed on the wood of the door. Who is it? What did I do? Is it them? Did they come here to find me?
The door swung open.
Sunlight from the hallway flooded the dim room, stinging Lena’s eyes. And there, framed in the golden light, stood the girl in the pastel cardigan (purple this time 🙂↕️).
Miu stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of colourful boxes and rolling a suitcase which looked far too bright for this dark and gloomy room. She looked up, her bubbly expression faltering for just a second as she saw Lena standing there like a cornered animal.
“Oh!” Miu blinked, a small, sheepish smile forming on her lips. “Hey, you’re my new roommate? I recognise you from class!”
Lena couldn’t find her voice. Her throat felt like it had been sewn shut. She just stared at Miu, her chest heaving with the remnants of a panic she couldn’t explain to a stranger.
Miu didn’t move closer. She stayed in the doorway, her head tilting slightly to the side, her sunshine energy softening into something quieter, something observant.
“I’m Miu,” she said softly, her voice missing the sharp edges Lena was used to hearing from adults. Almost like she deserved the softness. “I’m so sorry if I scared you. I’m a bit all over the place when I move in.”
Miu waited. She didn’t demand a response. She didn’t tell Lena to stop being weird. She just stood there in the light, waiting for Lena to decide if she was going to remain in the shadows or come out.
The air in the room felt different now. The seal on Lena’s box had been broken, and the lights spilling in from the hallway was stubborn, refusing to let the shadows reclaim their corners.
Lena’s hands remained tightly clenched, the sting of her nails digging into her palm being the only thing which was keeping her grounded. She looked at Miu, actually processing everything, and realised that the piece of sunshine she had watched from three rows back was now standing in front of her. Actively in her life now. Not someone she could just look at from afar. Up close, Miu didn’t just look bright; she looked kind, gentle and soft. Something Lena wasn’t very familiar with.
“I’m Lena,” she finally managed to exhale. It was barely a sound, a thin thread of a voice that trembled as it left her lips.
Miu’s smile widened just a bit — not a triumphant grin, but a gentle, encouraging one. “Lena. That’s a really pretty name. It sounds like… like soft light.”
Miu began to move, but she did it with a deliberate slowness, as if she knew any sudden motion might make Lena bolt. The door behind her closed leaving the room dark once again. Something Lena eased into yet still being very alert.
“Hey, do you mind turning on the lamp?” Miu asked sweetly, not wanting to open the curtains to disturb Lena’s atmosphere or comfort but still needed enough light to get settled in.
Lena’s heart, which had been hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, slowed just a bit. Miu hadn’t reached for the main switch. She hadn’t complained about the gloom or made a comment about how depressing it was to sit in the dark. She had asked for a lamp. A request, not a demand.
“Yeah,” Lena whispered. Her legs felt stiff, like they belonged to a mannequin instead of her, as she leaned over to click the switch on her desk.
The small, circular glow returned, cutting a golden path through the space between them. In the soft light, Miu looked even less real. She began to move towards her own side of the room, her footsteps light on the carpet, nowhere near the thunderous heels Lena’s mother wore.
“Thanks, Lena,” Miu said, her voice dropping to a warm, confidential level that didn’t grate on Lena’s ears. “I’m a bit of a night owl you know, but I hate those big overhead lights. They feel like… I don’t know how to describe it. Maybe an interrogation room? This is way better.”
Miu began to unpack, but she didn’t do it in the way Lena did. There was no robotic precision. Random colourful clothes pulled out and put to the side of the bed. A string of fairy lights a small, potted succulent. Every item Miu took out and placed down felt like an act of rebellion against the grey which had filled the whole room. But it didn’t contrast, it felt like a warm addition. Something which was so different yet felt like it just fit.
Lena sat back down at the edge of her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest. She was supposed to be reading her book, but the words were just blank ink on a page. She couldn’t stop watching Miu.
“I hope you don’t mind the plants,” Miu started off again, glancing over her shoulder as she placed 3 small pots on the windowsill. “My mum says I have a habit of turning every room into a jungle. If they ever do get in your way though please let me know, okay? I’m like huge on boundaries.”
Boundaries. One of the words which was foreign on Lena’s tongue and life. In her house, a closed door was a challenge. A private thought was a secret to be pried open. To hear a stranger offer them so freely made Lena feel a strange, sharp pang of something that wasn’t quite fear, but wasn’t quite comfort either.
“It’s fine,” Lena said, her voice a little stronger this time as she started to get used to having this stranger around.
Miu hummed a soft, wordless tune as she worked. She hadn’t asked Lena why she was standing in the corner like a threatened scared animal a couple minutes ago. She didn’t ask why the curtains were drawn at two in the afternoon. She just filled her half of the room and Lena exist in hers.
As the hour passed, the emptiness in Lena’s chest felt a little less heavy. For the first time in years, she wasn’t alone in a room, but she also didn’t feel hunted. She was just… there.
“Hey,” Miu turned around after she’d finished draping her fairy lights. She didn’t plug them in yet, as if waiting for permission. “I’m probably going to go head to the dining hall in a bit. I heard they’re doing tacos tonight. You’re welcome to join if you’re hungry? No pressure, though. Sometimes a book is better than a crowd.”
Lena looked at the door, then back at Miu. The thought of a noisy cafeteria made her skin crawl. But the way Miu had just offered Lena a choice, giving her an out before she even asked for it, made Lena feel seen in a way which didn’t hurt. It was a very strange feeling which Lena wasn’t sure if she could get used to it.
“I think I’ll stay here,” Lena said, looking down at her hands. She braced herself for the worst, waiting for the “oh you’re so boring,” or “you need to get out more.” But it never came.
“Fair enough,” Miu said with a shrug and a genuine smile. “Save me a spot in our class tomorrow? I always end up sitting in the middle and I’d love to have a friendly face further back.”
Miu grabbed her key and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later, Lena.”
The door clicked shut. Gently. No slam. No vibration in the floorboards. Just a quiet end to the conversation. Lena sat in the amber light of her lamp, looking at the empty space where Miu had stood. The room didn’t feel like a box anymore. It felt like a place where someone had just left the light on for her.
The shift in the room was subtle but permanent. Over the next month, the minefield in Lena’s mind began to soften its edges and lose its charge. Miu was a constant, yet never a demand. She was like the background music Lena actually liked. Present. Warm. Easy to ignore when the feeling of nothing got too loud again.
The transition didn’t happen with any grand gestures. It happened in the quiet gaps between classes and the low hum of the dorm room.
They fell into a rhythm that bypassed the need for heavy explanations. In the mornings, Miu would leave a granola bar on Lena’s desk with a doodle of a sun on a post-it note. In the evenings Miu would always invite Lena for a walk even though she always got rejected.
At first, Lena’s lean towards Miu was purely mental. It was the way she started leaving her headphones off when Miu was in the room. She came to the realisation that Miu’s noise, the clicking of her keyboard, the soft humming, wasn’t a threat, rather a shield. As long as Miu was making some sort of noise, the world outside their door couldn’t get in.
A couple months passed and the physical space between them began to shrink too.
One evening, the heating in the dorms flickered out. The room was biting cold, the kind of damp chill that made Lena’s bones ache. She was sitting on her bed, in three layers of blankets, staring at her textbook.
Miu was on the floor, sitting on her peach rug, which had ended up on Lena’s side of the room, leaning against the side of Lena’s bed frame. She was scrolling through her phone, her cardigan pulled tight around her.
“Lena,” Miu said, her voice soft in the dim light of the fairy lights. “I am freezing. My toes are actually going numb. Are you a literal ice cube over there?”
Lena looked down at the top of Miu’s head. Usually, she would’ve just nodded and stayed silent. However, the “nothing” felt a little lighter tonight.
“Yeah,” Lena whispered. “It’s cold.”
Miu shifted, looking up at her with an easy, toothy grin. “I’m considering starting a small, controlled fire in the middle of the room. Or…. we could share blankets? I have that giant fleece one my grandma made.”
In Lena’s house, sharing meant there was a price to pay. But Miu was already reaching for the fleece, dragging it over. Without waiting for Lena to overthink it, Miu hopped up and sat on the edge of Lena’s bed, draping the heavy fabric over both their laps.
Lena froze. Her shoulders hiked up to her ears, her breath hitching. She waited for the interrogation, for Miu to start asking deep questions now that she was close.
But Miu just opened up TikTok on her phone. “Look at this little baby panda. It’s so adorable.”
Slowly, over the course of half an hour, Lena’s shoulders dropped. The warmth from the fleece, and from Miu’s arms pressing lightly against hers, started to seep in. For the first time in years, Lena didn’t feel like she had to be a mouse in the corner. She felt like she was just a girl, sitting on a bed, watching a video.
She found herself shifting, just a bit, until her shoulder was firmly resting against Miu’s. It was the first time Lena had initiated touch in a decade.
Miu didn’t make a comment. She didn’t turn it into a moment. She just tilted her phone so Lena could see the screen better.
As the months passed by, Lena started to use her voice more often. She was initiating conversations rather than just replying. It wasn’t through anything grand but rather through small preferences.
“Miu?”
“Yeah, Lalee?”
“Can we… can we keep the fairy lights on tonight? Instead of the lamp?”
Miu beamed, the kind of smile that made Lena feel like she’d just won an award. “Of course, I like the amber better anyways. It makes the room feel like it’s dreaming.”
The physicality started with Lena sitting on Miu’s peach rug more often. She’d do her homework there while Miu practiced her guitar, every now and then singing while she played too. Lena got used to hearing Miu’s voice and how soft it sounded when she was singing. It was the favourite part of Lena’s day which she looked forward to. It was something which made Lena feel like she was part of something, rather than just a piece of furniture or storage.
One night, they were sitting side by side on the rug, both reading. Lena felt the steady rhythm of Miu’s breathing against her spine. It was grounding. It was a heartbeat that didn’t mean anger.
“Miu”
“Hmmm?”
“Do you ever… feel like you’re taking up too much space?”
Miu tested the waters a little, just hovering her head over Lena’s shoulder giving her a chance to move away. Lena didn’t. Miu took it as a sign and completely rested her head on Lena’s shoulder. “Sometimes. You know it’s not really something often but it comes sometimes. But then I remember that space is infinite. There’s plenty of it. And besides.” Miu nudged Lena’s knee with her own. “I like the space you take up. It’s calm, quiet and grounding. I think the world needs more of that.”
Lena turned her head away from Miu, her throat feeling tight. Not the dry, discomforting tightness from before, but something warmer. Something that felt like it might eventually turn into a tear she actually wanted to cry.
She was leaning into the sunshine, and for a few beautiful months, she forgot that winter was coming. That life wasn’t all sunshine. And that she needs to face the harsh reality once she’s back home. But for now, none of that mattered. Because she had Miu.
The bubble they had built felt impenetrable. For the first time in Lena’s life, home wasn’t a geographical location or a house with slamming doors; it was the specific hum of Miu’s guitar and the way the amber fairy lights blurred the edges when she was sleepy.
As the final weeks of the last semester approached, the atmosphere gradually shifted. The air grew warmer, and the library was filled with students cramming for finals. For everyone else, the end of the year was a celebration. A release. But for Lena, it felt like a heavy iron gate closing in slow motion.
Slowly the emotions started draining out of Lena. Not something in an instant. It was the same way colour came into her life. Slowly but surely leaving again.
Lena found herself staring at posters Miu had put around her side of the room, trying to memorise the shade of purple in Miu’s favourite cardigan, as if she could carry the colour back into her grey world which was waiting for her.
“Lalee? You’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes,” Miu said softly. She was sitting on the rug, her guitar resting on her lap softly playing some tunes. She didn’t look playful today. She looked observant. She had learnt to read the slight tension in Lena’s jaw, the way her eyes went flat when she was thinking about the train ride back.
“I’m just tired,” Lena lied. This was the safest answer she could give.
Miu didn’t push, she never did, she just gently scooted over to Lena and place a hand on her knee.
“We still have two weeks, bubs, and then after that we have phones. We have video calls, texting, and voice calls. I’m not just going to evaporate, Lalee”
Lena nodded, but she couldn’t explain that in her house, phones are a liability. The evaporating Miu was talking about was exactly what Lena had to do in order to survive.
The day that Lena was dreading finally arrived with a heavy pang in her chest. Meanwhile Miu’s parents arrived in a bright, clean car with as much sunshine if not double the sunshine Miu had. They were exactly how Lena had envisioned them to be - loud, laughing, and full of soft touches. They hugged Miu and then turned to Lena with smiles so genuine it made her almost flinch.
“So you’re the famous Lena my daughter keeps talking about!” Miu’s father said, shaking her hand. “Thank you for looking after our chaos here. You’re welcome at our place anytime this summer, you know.”
Lena offered a small, practiced nod. “Thank you.”
Miu gently pulled Lena aside for a second.
“Text me when you get in okay? Just so I know you’re safe?”
“I will,” Lena said. It was a promise she wanted to keep so badly.
But as the car pulled away, taking away the sunshine and the vanilla-scented hugs with it, Lena felt her battery drain with it. 30%. 20%. By the time she dragged her suitcase onto the train, she was already back to that 1%.
The house Lena returned to hadn’t changed. This only made her internal changes feel like a betrayal. Within an hour of being back, the pink sweater Miu had gifted her was tucked away at the bottom of a drawer. It felt too dangerous to wear something that held so much hope.
“You’re late,” her mother snapped at her, as she walked in, like her existence was a burden. No hello. No how was your year. No are you tired? “The kitchen is a mess. Start there.”
And after that it only went back to Lena’s old routines. The summer felt like a long, suffocating tunnel. Lena had taken on three jobs, a cafe in the afternoons, a night shift at a warehouse, and a weekend cleaning job. She worked until her vision blurred and her muscles screamed. But physical pain was better than the mental void at home so Lena never complained.
She lived in a constant state of freeze. She didn’t flinch anymore when the plates broke in the other room. She just turned up her music in her headphones until it started to hurt her eardrums again.
Miu’s texts came in like signals from a satellite which was drifting further and further away.
Miu [12:16] : Lalee, look at this ice cream! It reminded me of your favourite flavour
Miu [19:28] : I just finished learning a new song on my guitar. Wanna hear?
Miu [11:11] : I miss you Lalee, I hope you’re okay?
Lena would look at those texts and her thumb would hover over the notification, but her mind was like an abandoned house. She didn’t know how to tell Miu that she was struggling. That she was back to being a little mouse in the corner which nobody cared about. She also didn’t want Miu to see her like this again… empty, grey and small.
She didn’t respond to Miu at all. Not out of any hard feelings or malice but out of a desperate need to protect the memory of who she was at Uni. When she was with Miu. If she didn’t reply, then the Lena which sat in the dorm room on that peach rug, stayed real somewhere else.
By the time August arrived again, the time to go back to Uni, Lena’s phone was dead weight in her drawer.
The second trip to the station was a repeat of the first yet somehow it felt heavier. There was noise all around Lena, buzzing with excited students, yet she could only hear the suitcase wheels click against the pavement and the sound of every footstep she made.
Stepping back into the dorm for the second year didn’t feel like a homecoming. It felt like a ghost returning to a haunt. Lena was early. As always. She needed to reclaim the shadows before the light arrived. She unpacked with the same robotic precision from a year back. The fairy lights were still in a box under the bed. The peach rug was rolled up and tucked away.
She sat on her bed, her back against the wall, and pulled her hood up. She was a shadow once again, only this time she was colder and more brittle than before.
When the door finally opened, the sunlight from the hallway hit the floor, but it didn’t feel warm. It felt like an intrusion. Miu stood there, her hair a little longer, her eyes wide as they searched the dim room. She saw Lena, huddled up in that same old grey hoodie, and her expression faltered.
“Lena?” Miu said. It wasn’t the same soft “Lalee.” It was a question. Once laced with a hurt that Lena didn’t know how to carry.
Lena didn’t look up. “Hi.”
After that there was no more conversation. The first week went agonisingly slow. Miu tried warming up to Lena. She really tried her best. Again. She offered tea, left snacks again, left notes, played her guitar every now and then. But Lena had built her walls higher with reinforced steel this time. She was distant, her responses limited to one word. She saw the confusion and the slow, painful dimming of Miu’s sunshine. And it tore Lena apart. But she remained silent. If she let the light back in, the contrast from the summer would kill her.
A week later, the silence finally reached its breaking point. It was late at night, around 11pm. The room was dark, saved only by the faint amber glow of the fairy lights Miu had quietly hung again a couple days ago, despite the atmosphere around the two girls.
Miu, unable to handle the distance, moved from her bed. She slowly walked across the room, her footsteps light and unhurried, and sat down on the edge of the peach rug right next to Lena’s bed. She just sat there in the dim light, giving Lena the same exact pressureless space she had given her since the day they met.
Miu rested the back of her head gently against the edge of Lena’s bed. “I’m here,” Miu spoke softly, her voice steady. It carried no anger, no demand. A period of silence followed before she continued, “If you want to talk to me, that’s fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, then that’s okay too. I’m not going anywhere, hm?”
Lena didn’t respond. Her chest felt tight and so did her throat, filled with the familiar, suffocating static of the summer where memories flooded in uninvited. Lena needed this. She needed Miu, even though she wasn’t ready to accept that. A couple minutes passed as her chest felt a little less achy when she moved, so she allowed herself to slide down the mattress and sit next to Miu. She still couldn’t find her voice, so she leaned in. She let her head rest against Miu’s shoulder while slowly listening to both of their breaths to calm herself down further.
Miu didn’t pull away. Neither did she ask any questions. She adjusted her posture to allow Lena to be comfortable while leaning against her, letting her presence act as a silent anchor.
From Lena’s perspective it had felt as if the world had paused. She’d once again found a place where she could breathe. Somewhere she didn’t have to count every step without it feeling like she had been doing something wrong.
From Miu’s perspective she had gotten someone she valued back. Even if Lena hadn’t fully opened up to Miu, she took a step forward the same way Miu had taken a couple. And that was more than enough for her.
And just like that, a month had passed in that quiet and fragile room. The feeling of nothing inside Lena didn’t disappear in an instant. Rather slowly, the walls of steel that were built around her heart once again started to ease. The headphones were left off more frequently and she began initiating conversations, using the same voice Miu had helped her find in the past year.
Miu remained patient as she observed the tiny victories. Realising the way Lena’s shoulders lowered when the door closed and the way she would occasionally sit on the peach rug while Miu strummed her guitar. It was during these quiet late night moments where Miu realised her feelings had started to change entirely. She didn’t see Lena as just a friend. She didn’t want to be just a temporary house for Lena. She wanted to be Lena’s home.
But healing is never easy.
Never something you just go forward and never back. Later on in the month, Lena was back to being curled up in her bed. It was the same date, Miu had first stepped into their dorm room.
She was completely buried under the covers, her body visibly shaking. She was tearing up the way she always had: quietly, deep into her pillow, ensuring not a single sound escaped into the room because, in her head, her pain was still a burden to the rest of the world.
But Miu noticed. She always did.
The mattress dipped slightly as Miu sat on the edge of Lena’s bed. Not prying into her personal space but letting Lena know she was there. She let her presence sit for a while before gently pulling back the top layer of the blanket.
“Lena,” she whispered into the dark room, this time not even the fairy lights were lit. “I’ve got you. Come here.”
That was all it took for Lena’s restraints to break. She scrambled out of her blankets and collapsed against Miu’s chest, her fingers clutching the back of Miu’s hoodie so tightly her knuckles turned white. The dam broke entirely, and the tears which she had suppressed all summer, and honestly all her life, finally spilled out, hot and uncontrolled.
“I’m sorry,” Lena choked out, her voice raw, filled with regret and fractured from months of forced silence. “I’m so sorry I didn’t answer you, Miu. I didn’t know how to. I just didn’t. I tried. I tried. I wanted to. But every time I thought… thought about my phone I just… just couldn’t.”
The words poured out of her like water from a burst pipe. She told Miu everything. She explained the three jobs, and how she had deliberately exhausted her body until her vision blurred just so her mind would stay empty. She confessed how looking at Miu’s messages reminded her of the warmth she couldn’t receive and she couldn’t allow that hope to sit with her while she was actively going through hell. How she couldn’t allow herself the warmth while she sat like a ghost living in a house which didn’t want her.
Miu listened to everything. Every word which came out of Lena’s mouth, making her heart ache for the girl in her arms. She held Lena tighter, rocking her slowly, caressing her hair while occasionally resting her chin on Lena’s head to make her feel more grounded. They stayed like that for hours until the crying finally stopped and the girl lay limp against Miu. Miu gently lay Lena onto her bed comfortably, moving a couple strands of hair behind her ear. Even after crying, Lena had this glow which Miu never failed to notice.
The next morning, the room didn’t wake up to the cold, clinical glare which Lena had expected. Instead Lena opened her eyes to find herself tucked in bed, the heavy blanket up to her chin. The air felt lighter, as if the walls themselves had expanded now that the weight of everything was finally shared and out of her chest. The feelings were still there but suddenly it felt like they weren’t that big compared to the comfort Miu had given her.
Remembering Miu, she looked across the room. Miu was fast asleep curled up against her extra pillows. Lena lay still, listening to the way Miu’s breath was a quiet and steady rhythm. For longer than she could remember, waking up meant bracing for impact instantly, listening for the sharp rattle of cabinets or the rising pitch of an argument. But here, the only sound was the peaceful rise and fall of the person who had just spent the night holding her together. Lena looked down at her hands. They weren’t clenched in tight fists anymore. Her fingers lay relaxed against the sheets. The crescent marks of her nails on her palms fading away for the first time in a while.
The relief of the morning didn’t instantly wash away all her years of survival instincts, but it gave her a safe perimeter to begin building on. In the weeks that followed, her war become a workshop where she put herself back together piece by piece.
The change showed up in the smallest, most mundane daily routines. Waking up no longer felt like a countdown. Lena would lie still for a few extra minutes, using Miu’s light breathing across the room as an anchor, reminding herself she didn’t need to run and that she was safe.
Miu never threw grand celebrations or anything noticeable for Lena’s breakthroughs, which was exactly what Lena needed. When Lena started to leave her side of the room to join Miu and sit beside her on her peach rug unprompted, Miu didn’t make a comment. She just slid a basket of laundry out of the way or moved her book onto her lap so that Lena had space to stretch out.
The moments they both treasured most, however, were when Miu decided to strum her guitar and play a few notes to songs for Lena. The song unknown, yet the tune carried peace and warmth which vibrated in Lena’s chest.
By October, Lena’s hands had completely forgotten the habit of clenching into defensive fists. The tiny, pale crescents on her palms where her nails used to dig in during panic moments had faded entirely into smooth skin.
They began sharing a single, chaotic desk for their group projects, their keyboards clicking in a comfortable, synchronised rhythm. Miu would effortlessly pull a reference for a lit essay, nudge Lena’s elbow, and point at the screen with a proud grin. For the first time, Lena didn’t feel like a barely average student just getting by under pressure; she felt capable. She felt intelligent.
Slowly but surely their world started expanding beyond the four walls of their room, yet it remained completely theirs.
There were chilly autumn café dates, where the windows would turn foggy from the cold outside. Miu would effortlessly lean across the table to steal a couple fries from Lena’s plate while bringing up random topics of either class or something she’d seen on her way there. Lena would just watch her, feeling a genuine warmth loosen the tight knot which had lived in her chest for years.
There were occasional dinners in tiny, dimly lit corner booths, which both Lena and Miu seemed to prefer, where the ambience of the restaurant couldn’t pierce their bubble. Lena found herself initiating conversations, sharing memories of books which she loved reading and kept with her or asking Miu if she had finally come up with lyrics for the tune Miu had seemed to create. She was using her voice slowly, not as a tool to de-escalate things but because she had something she wanted Miu to hear.
Then came their evening walks. The campus became their own little sanctuary whether they walked from campus to dorm or just out and around sometimes walking into the library or just random empty lecture halls. The nature of these walks depended entirely on how their day had been, moving perfectly in sync with each other with whatever energy they had left.
On heavy days, when the echo of the summer felt a little too close, with the feeling of separation and what it would bring again, the walks were completely quiet. They’d walk stride for stride, beneath the darkening sky as the weather reflected their mood, with a mutual understanding that neither of them had the emotional strength to speak yet craved the physical presence of the other.
On lighter days, Miu’s bubbly nature would break through like sunshine. She would lean into her natural self, cracking a couple jokes just to watch the corners of Lena’s mouth twitch upwards into a soft laugh. It was a peaceful energy where neither Lena nor Miu felt the need to exert themselves or put on a fake persona. They were just existing, unburdened and peacefully, together.
During one of their walks together Lena had looked at Miu, watching the cool breeze gently kiss Miu before running through her hair and making her baby hair stand up. She realised that the piece of sunshine she had once admired from the back of the class hadn’t disappeared at all, it had just become softer. It adapted its light so that a shadow like Lena could stand beside it without burning her.
It was a quiet realisation, settling into her bones with the same soft weight as Miu’s head had months before.
As December deepened, the walks became their anchor against the gathering frost. The winter air grew sharper, but the cold no longer felt like the hollow emptiness Lena had carried her whole childhood. It felt real. It felt alive.
On a particular evening, the sky had turned a soft lilac, the last rays of golden sun rays catching the ends of the branches. They were walking past the edge of the campus lake, the water entirely still with a delicate rim of ice drifting across, mirroring the quiet transition of the world around them. The energy was low, matching the peaceful exhaustion of the final days before winter holidays, but it was the kind of tired which felt safe.
Miu slowed down her pace and eventually halted. She turned to Lena completely, the playful, bubbly personality, which she wore as simple as breathing, now set aside.
“Lena,” she started off, her tone as soft as her eyes. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot. About last year, and about these past couple of months. About everything we’ve built, had shattered and rebuilt. I don’t think I want to be your roommate anymore. And I don’t think I want to be just a safe space to you.”
She took a step towards Lena, the world shrinking to just the two of them where Lena felt heat radiating off Miu.
“I love you Lalee. I don’t want to be just a safe space, I’d like to be the person you choose to come home to. I don’t want you to think I’m just a temporary solace in your broken world. I want to be someone permanent who you can always be with, no second thought involved. Let me help build your world with you. Let me help you stand on your own.”
The words hung in the crisp, winter air, beautiful and terrifying. Instantly, all of Lena’s defence mechanisms tried to grind back into motion. The survival instincts, the invisible walls, the heavy baggage of a house built on breaking plates, screams and explosive anger. It all rushed to her throat, choking all the air out of her. She looked down at her shoes, the familiar dry tightness seizing her chest.
But she used her voice. Because that’s what she had spent months learning to do with Miu. She didn’t hide behind silence or a quiet nod. She forced her words out, she let her vulnerability lay completely bare between the two of them.
“Miu, I’m broken,” Lena whispered, voice trembling against the cold. “You know what’s inside my head, you’ve seen what I’m like when everything comes back. You know what I’ve been brought up with. You’ve seen me when I couldn’t even look at my phone screen without suffocating. You’ve seen me go back and forth with my no contact. You’ve seen me give absolutely nothing yet receive so much. I don’t deserve you Miu, I really don’t. You have so many better options. Why me? I’m a hollow shell. I’m just going to ruin it between us.”
Miu didn’t flinch, neither did she look disappointed by the doubts. Instead, she calmly reached out and held Lena’s hands in hers. Her grip was warm, solid and completely unyielding, anchoring Lena right there to the earth.
“You’re not a puzzle to be fixed, Lena. I’m not looking for perfect. I like the pieces I have right now. And you don’t earn love by being okay. You don’t have to do anything to earn love, Lalee. You don’t have to be whole to deserve to be held. I just want you. All of you. The broken parts. The parts which learn how to fight despite the difficulties. The softness. The scared you. I want all of it. You’re someone I want to work things out with. When things get difficult, I want you to choose me the same way I’d choose you. Your worth isn’t defined just because of your broken past.”
Miu’s voice came out soft but steady, answering every insecurity with a quiet truth. Lena looked down at their joined hands, tracing the way Miu’s fingers perfectly slotted against her own, relatively warm against her perpetually cold skin. Then she looked up to Miu’s face, searching for the familiar, tired disappointment she had seen in her mother’s eyes, or the anger of her father’s.
There was nothing but clear, uncomplicated warmth.
She thought back to it all. She thought about the 1% battery on her phone, the thunderous sound of slamming doors, and the endless grey in her life. And then she looked at the warm fairy lights waiting in their dorm, the soft peach rug, and the girl who had spent a year and more simply leaving the light on for her, never asking for a price.
“I’m terrified,” Lena spoke, the honesty tearing through the last of her defences. “I’m so scared that if I start being comfortable with you, once I go back I’ll forget how to survive. I’m scared that this is all just temporary. What if you get tired? What if I can’t handle it? What if I hurt you in the process of keeping myself alive? I don’t want to hurt you Miu. You’re the last person I’d ever want to harm even unknowingly.”
“I know you’re scared of hurting me, Lalee. But loving someone always comes with the risk of getting hurt. I’m choosing to take that risk with you. If you slip up, we’ll talk. We’ll communicate and we’ll try things which will help the both of us. If you need to go quiet for a bit, I’ll still be right here when you’re ready to speak up again. I won’t get tired of you Lena. You aren’t something to tolerate; you’re someone I want.”
Miu pulled Lena’s hands just a bit closer to her chest, her eyes wide, deep, and absolutely certain.
“You don’t have to worry about how to survive in your parents’ house anymore, because you won’t be facing it alone. Whenever you have to go back, I’ll be a text away, a phone call away, or I’ll just come get you myself. But right now? Look at me. We’re here. The holidays are starting, and you don’t have to carry the winter by yourself.”
Lena stood beneath the bare branches of the tree, looking at the girl who had spent months patiently figuring out what each of her silences meant, never once forcing her to cross her boundaries until she was ready. She looked down at their intertwined fingers, feeling the solid, physical reality of Miu’s warmth melting the invisible barrier she had lived behind for so long.
The fear didn’t vanish, it was too deeply rooted into her bones for that. But for the first time, the desire to be happier was heavier than the instinct to hide.
She took a slow, deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs completely. She didn’t feel like a mouse in the corner anymore. She didn’t feel like a piece of furniture tucked away in the storage room. She felt the ground beneath her shoes, the wind in her hair, and the steady grip of Miu’s hands.
Her fingers relaxed entirely, losing their defensive tension as she squeezed Miu’s hands back, anchoring herself. A small, genuine smile finally reached Lena’s eyes.
“Okay.”