The bus pulled away with a low groan, leaving behind the faint hum of the city and the scent of rain on pavement. Yue Xi stood still for a moment, her schoolbag slung over one shoulder, staring up at the familiar iron gates of the house. A house that looked too big for just one person.
She pushed the gate open, its metal hinges creaking faintly in protest. The stone path to the door was damp and lined with weeds, and the lawn hadn't been trimmed in weeks. The front porch light was off, like always. No welcoming glow. No waiting voice. Just the soft brush of wind rustling through the old trees.
The house stood in silence as she opened the door.
Inside, the quiet was overwhelming. No footsteps, no clatter of plates from the kitchen, no TV murmuring in the background. Just the distant ticking of a clock and the faint hum of the fridge.
She stepped out of her shoes and set her bag down beside the hallway mirror. Her reflection stared back at her—school uniform slightly wrinkled, hair damp from the walk, eyes tired. Not sad. Just... blank.
The living room was neat but untouched. Cushions fluffed, curtains drawn. Like someone had cleaned it for guests who never came.
She moved on autopilot: opened the fridge, poured herself a glass of water, and stared out the window into the overgrown backyard. Somewhere in that silence, her memories stirred—the kind she didn't like to touch. The kind that left an ache in her chest when the world slowed down.
Her phone buzzed once.
A classmate had messaged in group chat about homework. She ignored it and climbed the stairs to her room, the wood creaking under her weight. Her room was the only space that felt like hers. Pale blue walls, a desk by the window, and a worn-out notebook that held everything she couldn't say out loud.
She sat at the desk and opened it.
Pages filled with scattered thoughts, half-written poems, and questions she didn't know how to answer. One page stood out—an old one, scribbled in shaky handwriting:
"Do people notice someone who never speaks?"
Yue Xi closed the notebook and leaned back in her chair.
It wasn't that she hated being alone. It was that this kind of silence had weight. It carried memories. And sometimes, she wasn't sure if she was strong enough to carry them all on her own.
But tomorrow was another school day. Another chance to stay invisible—or maybe not.
She turned off the light and crawled into bed, listening to the soft sound of rain starting up again outside.
In the dark, she whispered to herself.
"I'm still here."
Next day
The morning sun crept through the half-closed blinds, casting pale stripes across Yue Xi's bedroom floor. Her alarm buzzed softly from her phone, but she was already awake. She had been for a while just lying there, staring at the ceiling.
She got up quietly, washed, dressed, and tied her hair back without much thought. Everything felt like routine—mechanical, quiet. Just like her.
By the time she left the house, the streets were already alive with chatter and footsteps. Students passed by in groups, laughing, shouting, trading snacks and stories. She walked behind them alone, earbuds in but with no music playing—just something to make her feel like she didn't have to talk.
At school, the gates were wide open, and the usual morning chaos unfolded around her. She kept her head down and made her way to her classroom.
As she stepped inside, a few heads turned. Not many. Not for long.
"Hey, new girl's early again," someone whispered, not unkindly.
She took her seat by the window, second row from the back, and began unpacking her notebook. The same one she wrote in last night. The same one she never let anyone else see.
"Yue Xi, right?" The voice came from beside her—soft, curious.
She looked up and saw a girl with short, wavy hair and bright, alert eyes. She had the kind of easy smile that made people comfortable.
"I'm Li Rui. We're in the same class. I sit over there," she said, pointing diagonally.
Yue Xi nodded, polite but distant. "Hi."
"You eat lunch alone, right? Want to sit with me today?"
That caught her off guard.
It wasn't pity in Rui's voice—just something simple. Kind.
Yue Xi hesitated, unsure how to answer.
Before she could, the teacher entered, and the classroom quieted. Rui offered her one last smile before turning back to her seat.
Yue Xi stared down at her desk, fingers lightly brushing the edge of her notebook.
Maybe today would be a little different.
Just a little.
The bell rang sharp and loud, cutting through the classroom chatter. Chairs scraped back, footsteps echoed, and the hallway filled with the familiar chaos of lunch break.
Yue Xi remained seated for a moment, watching the steady flow of students surge out the door. Her fingers tapped gently against her desk, unsure if she really wanted to follow through.
Then—
"Hey!" It was Li Rui again. This time, standing right in front of her desk, lunch tray in hand and an easy grin on her face "You coming?"
Yue Xi blinked. "I... guess."
She followed quietly, half-expecting this was some sort of joke. But when Li rui led her toward a table in the corner of the cafeteria where a small group sat, no one laughed. No one even looked surprised.
"This is Yue Xi," Li Rui introduced as they sat down. "She's new."
"Finally, someone who doesn't talk too much," said a tall girl with glasses and a tired-looking expression. "I'm Lin ruoruo. Welcome to our unofficial 'quiet table.'"
"Pfft, I talk," said the boy next to her, pushing his hair back dramatically. "Yang Yichen." He said and extended his hand for handshake.
Yue Xi gave a small smile, just barely shaking hands. Something she did for first time in year.
Li Rui leaned in. "They're weird, but nice. Don't worry, you'll get used to them."
As trays were unpacked and snacks were shared, the conversation drifted from school drama to favorite songs to which teachers were secretly dating. Yue Xi didn't say much—but she didn't leave, either.
She listened.
Watched.
Noticed how Li Rui tapped her chopsticks when she was excited. How Lin ruoruo sarcasm had warmth underneath. How Yichen made jokes to keep attention away from himself.
For the first time in a while, the noise didn't feel so loud. It didn't hurt.
Then someone asked, "So, Yue Xi—why'd you transfer here so late in the year?"
The table went quiet.
Yue Xi blinked, her fingers tightening on her juice box. "I just... needed a change."
No one pushed further.
Hana gave her a small nod, like she understood more than she let on. "Well. We're glad you did."
And somehow, she believed it.
Outside the window, the afternoon sun fell softly through the glass, warm and golden. For the first time, Yue Xi didn't feel like a shadow in the room.
Just a quiet part of something slowly beginning.