The Weight Beneath The Glow

The kitchen was too quiet for the kind of thirst I had. I didn't bother with a glass. I just opened the fridge and drank straight from the bottle like someone searching for relief, not just water.

Coldness hit my throat, sharp and clean.

I stood there a moment longer, watching the fridge light flicker on my face. My legs ached, but not in the normal way. They carried the kind of tiredness that wasn’t physical.

When I got back to my room, I stopped at the door and stared.

And then I thought “ Wow! It looked... perfect”.

The curtains were a gentle shade of baby pink, fluttering with the breeze like they had rhythm. My bed was smooth and perfectly made, the way hotel beds look in movies. A round table sat in the corner, stacked with books I had arranged by subject and color. Yes, I’m that kind of petty person. I like to arrange my room serially or as you may think.A single chair waited beside it like a friend who didn’t talk too much.

There was an extra bunk above, mostly untouched except for the soft blankets folded into a square and the box I used in keeping notes of the special gifts that my father always gave me . My earbuds rested beside my pillow, quiet and loyal. Whenever I put them, all those burdensome thoughts and worries vanished into thin air .

I called it my little paradise.The one place where the world stayed outside and nothing was too loud.

I didn’t even know I was smiling a little... until the knock came.

The knock was soft and felt familiar. I knew who it was so I reluctantly opened the door .

“Mum,” I whispered, without turning.

She walked in slowly like she didn’t want to step on anything sacred. Her eyes scanned the space, pausing on the curtains, the table, the chair.

“Your room looks beautiful,” she said finally. Her voice held no extra sugar.

That was suspicious.

My mum rarely said things just to say them. She complimented with purpose. And she wasn’t exactly a poet.

“I like it too,” I said, folding my arms. “You made it like this, remember?”

She raised an eyebrow like she wasn’t expecting the comment.

I sat on the bed, and after a pause, she joined me, smoothing her palm across the sheet. Her fingers looked... thoughtful. If fingers could look like that.

“I designed this room,” she said slowly, “just like I used to keep my space when I was your age. My room was always neat, specific and quiet.”

I turned to her. “You were neat?”

She laughed softly. “I was worse than you. You know those girls who label everything, even their pencil sharpener? That was me.”

I smirked. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It was comforting,” she said, still staring at the floor. “I liked control. Everything to be in place. Nothing was surprising about your own style.”

She was drifting now. That kind of voice people use when they’re walking backward into their own memories.

“I was in senior secondary when something odd happened,” she began, not looking at me. “A new girl transferred into our class. She had this... quiet glow. She wasn't loud or flashy. But people noticed her, somehow. She had this way of making teachers smile and classmates lower their voices when she spoke.”

I raised an eyebrow. “So, she was that girl?”

“She was that girl,” Mum confirmed. “And me? I didn’t like how much she reminded me of everything I thought I was supposed to be but wasn’t.”

That surprised me.

“You?” I said. “You were jealous of someone?”

She chuckled without humor. “Not just me. Turns out another girl in class was too. But unlike me, she acted on it.”

My heart thumped a little faster. I shifted slightly.

“She started spreading rumors. Just small things at first. First it was a missing calculator. Then a stolen pen. People didn’t notice... until something bigger vanished. Something the school couldn’t ignore.”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to.

Mum went on, her voice careful. “No one accused the new girl outright. But whispers... they grow legs. And they ran fast. It wasn’t until weeks later that someone overheard a confession.”

She turned to me. “It was the jealous girl. She took it and hid it. Blamed the new girl because she felt invisible the moment she walked in.”

My jaw tightened.

“That’s so messed up,” I said before I could filter it. “Like—how callous can someone be? To make a whole plan just to ruin someone else?”

Mum blinked. “You think so?”

“Obviously,” I said. “If I were her friend or even just someone close,I ’d tell her to give it back. To own up and turn herself in. That’s just basic decency.”

There was a pause. A soft, knowing one.

Mum gave me a slow nod, patted my back, and stood.

She walked to the table, picked up my phone, and looked over her shoulder. “Your phone kept buzzing earlier. I silenced it. I thought it might be a distraction.”

I nodded as she left.

The door closed quietly behind her.

I sat there, the memory of her story crawling all over my skin. Something about it wouldn’t let go. And deep down, I already knew why.

I’d just helped my mum unpack a story about jealousy.

And I felt proud.

Until I opened my phone.

Group chat: It was lit and loud

Nora: “She’s a pretender. Can’t believe people still pity her.”

Unknown number: “Heard she’s the one who set Sara up. Shameful.”

Then there was June.

Sweet, brave June.

“Guys stop. Don’t say what you’re not sure about.”

It kept going. The pings, the jabs, the dirt.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel shocked either. I just sighed, tossed the phone back on the bed, and pulled my blanket to my chest.

Somewhere deep inside, I knew what was coming.

But for tonight, the glow of my room felt heavier than usual.

And I let the silence hold me.