~The tears fall, but the heart remembers in whispers~
Y/n's alarm clock buzzed precisely at 8:00 AM, the sharp sound slicing through the stillness of her room.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a moment, her expression as cold and impassive as ever.
The morning light filtered through the minimalist blinds, casting soft shadows on the walls.
She rose from her bed with a fluid grace, her movements deliberate and composed.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up, stretching slightly before standing.
She splashed cold water on her face, brushed her teeth, and pulled on her usual attire: black jeans, a plain white t-shirt, and her favorite leather jacket.
She laced up her combat boots and tied her dark hair back into a high ponytail, every movement precise and deliberate.
Descending the stairs, she found the house in its usual state of indifferent silence.
Her mother was seated at the breakfast table, eating alone as always. Y/n noted the absence of any invitation to join her, not that she wanted one.
She walked towards the kitchen, intending to grab something quick to eat.
As she entered the kitchen, her mother looked up and, in an unusual display of sweetness, said,
Mom : Pack your bags, sweetheart. We are going to shift to your dad's house. **Sweetly**
Y/n froze for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she assessed her mother's sudden change in demeanor.
It didn't take long to understand the reason behind the act. Her mother's voice, too sugary to be sincere, held a note of forced affection that made Y/n's skin crawl.
A minute later, her suspicions were confirmed as she heard her mother speaking on the phone.
She caught snippets of the conversation, enough to know that her mother was talking to her stepfather, the source of this newfound kindness.
Despite the false sweetness in her mother's tone, Y/n responded with her usual coldness.
Y/n - Hmm
she muttered, acknowledging the command without any warmth.
She grabbed an apple from the counter and headed back upstairs to pack her things.
Her movements were methodical as she gathered her belongings, the task done with the same detachment she applied to everything else in her life.
She was used to this - the manipulation, the pretense. Her mother's true colors were never far from the surface, and Y/n had learned long ago not to expect anything genuine from her.
She had no sentimental attachment to this house or its contents, and packing was a simple task.
As she folded her clothes and placed them into her suitcase, her mind remained clear and focused.
This change, like many others in her life, was something she would face with her usual cold resolve.
As she finished packing, she took a moment to look around her room. It was the only place place that held few memories and even fewer attachments.
Moving to her stepfather's house would be just another change in a life that had been full of them. She didn't care about the house, the family, or the façade of a new beginning.
Her heart remained cold, untouched by the pretense of warmth and family ties.
A/n
Hi :)
Soo here's a pic of her room as I forgot to add it in the beginning chapters (lol)
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