Liora’s POVSunlight cuts through the blinds, casting golden bars of light across the bedroom floor. Dust particles swirl in the beams like tiny stars, weightless and slow. It’s the first thing I see when I wake up, and for a moment, I’m still—not groggy, just aware. Too aware. I can make out each particle suspended in air, each thread in the weave of my blanket. It’s like the world is turned up a notch, sharp and gleaming.Downstairs, I hear Mom humming in the kitchen. The soft thud of a mixing spoon against a bowl follows—she’s making pancakes. She always makes pancakes on my birthday. It’s a ritual, a tradition wrapped in cinnamon and vanilla.Today is my seventeenth birthday.But for me, it’s just another day. Routines keep me steady, and I don’t like to break them. There’s comfort in the predictable. So I rise, stretch, and head to my closet, reaching for the same green top I always wear when I want to feel like myself. It brings out the color in my eyes. I pair it with ripped sk
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