Chapter 28: 2Lian's Morning

She took one step, then another, until she was close enough to see every detail of her reflection.

Lian raised a hand and touched the corners of her swollen eyes. Her fingers moved slowly over her pale cheek, almost as if she were trying to make sure the woman standing in front of her was really there.

"When..."

The word barely left her lips.

Silence filled the room.

She looked into her own eyes for a long moment before asking again, "When did I become like this?"

No one answered.

She kept staring, seeing behind those tired eyes the long nights of silence and the years she had spent living the way other people wanted her to live instead of the way she wanted.

She saw every time she had swallowed a word because it was easier than arguing.

Every dream she had hidden because someone had told her it wasn't practical.

Every drawing she had put away because someone had made her feel foolish for wanting to create something that belonged only to her.

A third question rose from somewhere deeper than her voice.

"When did I disappear?"

A sharp ache passed through her chest.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

The woman in the mirror was still looking back at her.

Tired.

But still standing.

That mattered more than she expected.

A faint smile slowly appeared on Lian's lips.

"No..."

She shook her head slightly.

"The question isn't when I got lost."

She paused, watching her own reflection.

"The question is... when will I start finding my way back?"

For a few seconds, the words simply hung between her and the mirror.

The silence remained, but it no longer frightened her. It felt more like the quiet before something new began, something she couldn't see yet but wasn't afraid to wait for.

She stepped away from the mirror and turned on the water.

She washed her face with cold water for a long time. Drops ran down her skin and fell into the sink, as if they could wash away the remains of a night she desperately wanted to erase.

She knew they couldn't.

Some memories stayed no matter how much water touched the skin.

Still, she kept washing her face until the cold had finally driven away some of the heaviness from her eyes.

Then she left the bathroom and headed into the kitchen.

It was spacious and elegant, its white cabinets shining as though no one had ever used them. Everything had been arranged perfectly, from the cups to the plates, yet the place still felt strangely empty.

She opened one of the cabinets.

Inside were neatly arranged cups and plates that had never been touched.

She stood there for a moment, looking at them.

Everything was new.

Everything was expensive.

And somehow, none of it felt like hers.

She took out a small frying pan, an egg, and two slices of bread, then put water on to boil.

She wasn't much of a cook.

At her family's house, everything had always been prepared before she even asked for it. Meals appeared at the right time. Coffee was brought when she wanted it. There had always been someone to do the small things before she even thought about them.

She had never needed to ask herself what she wanted to make.

But here, there was only her.

And the quiet apartment.

And the smell of coffee slowly filling the air.

She moved around the kitchen without much confidence, checking the food more than once and adjusting things as she went. It wasn't an impressive breakfast. There was nothing special about it.

But it was hers.

She watched the steam rise from the cup in thin curls.

For the first time in a long while, she was making something for herself.

Not for guests.

Not for her family.

Not to make anyone happy.

Just for herself.

She sat at the small table with her coffee and a simple plate. The breakfast was modest, almost completely stripped of the luxury that filled the apartment around her.

She looked at the plate for a moment, then smiled faintly.

"Strange..."

She rested her fingers around the warm cup.

"All this luxury, and the first meal I've had that actually feels like mine is the simplest one I've ever eaten."

She took her first sip of coffee.

It was bitter.

But she didn't add any sugar.

She left it that way, letting the taste remain on her tongue.

Maybe some kinds of bitterness had to be tasted as they were, so that one day she would know exactly how sweet the life she built for herself could be.

She didn't know what that life would look like yet.

She didn't know where she would live years from now, what her work would become, or whether the people around her would ever understand the choices she had made.

For once, she didn't need all the answers.

She only needed to know that the next choice would be hers.

She finally got up, carried the cup to the sink, washed it slowly, and dried her hands on the edge of a towel.

Her eyes fell on the phone lying on the table.

For a moment, she simply looked at it.

Then she reached for it.

The screen lit up.

Dozens of notifications appeared at once.

Missed calls.

Messages from her mother.

Messages from relatives.

Messages from numbers she didn't recognize.

There were also news articles and posts carrying her name, or hinting at it, after the celebration people still hadn't forgotten.

Her finger hovered over the screen.

She could open everything.

She could read every message and find out what people were saying, how many rumors had been born since yesterday, and how many stories strangers had invented about her life.