Solstice in Grandeur

Chapter 10: Year 10 - The Ice Begins to Form

At ten, Haein had already learned to keep her emotions tightly wrapped, like a fragile gift she refused to share. Her days followed the same pattern: school, studies, and silent dinners where her family's laughter never quite reached her. She often felt like an outsider, a stranger within her own home, watching from the shadows as her mother doted on Soo-cheol, her father remained engrossed in his work, and she stood alone at the edges of their world.

Her relationship with Soo-cheol was strained further after the cruel prank he had pulled the previous year. She had tried to forgive him, to see him as the little brother who still needed guidance. But his mocking laughter, the way he relished her embarrassment, had left a mark on her heart that was slow to heal.

One afternoon, while her father was away on another business trip, and her mother was hosting a charity event, Haein decided to spend her time in the large family library, her favourite room in the entire mansion. It was quiet there, and she loved the smell of the old books and the feel of their worn pages under her fingers. As she wandered between the shelves, she came across an old photo album she hadn't seen before. She opened it, her fingers brushing against the dust-covered leather.

The album was filled with pictures from her parents' earlier years-photos of them smiling at parties, on trips, celebrating milestones. She turned the pages slowly, and soon, her own face began to appear in the photographs: a newborn Haein cradled in her mother's arms, her father looking down at her with a rare, gentle smile. For a moment, she felt warmth in her chest, a flicker of something that felt like hope. Maybe they had loved her once.

Then, as she reached the middle of the album, the pictures changed. There were photos of her mother, heavily pregnant with the twins, and then, suddenly, Soo-cheol appeared-his birth celebrated with joy, his first steps, his first words, and countless pictures of him laughing, playing, always surrounded by smiles. But in the album, her presence began to fade. The images of Haein grew fewer and fewer until there were none at all.

The realisation struck her like a punch to the stomach. She was being erased. Her mother's hatred had begun the day her sister died, but the evidence of her exclusion from their family's happy memories hurt in a way she hadn't expected.

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she angrily blinked them away, closing the album with a snap. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of knowing how much it hurt. Instead, she stood up, the sting of rejection hardening into resolve.

That evening, her mother returned from the charity event, glowing with the praise she had received. Haein sat at the dinner table, watching as her mother talked animatedly with Soo-cheol, who was eager to share a story about his day at school. Haein's father was still away on his trip, his seat empty as usual.

Suddenly, her mother turned to Haein, her expression cool and distant. "What did you do today, Haein?"

It was rare for her mother to ask her anything, and Haein hesitated, caught off guard. "I... I went to the library," she replied quietly.

Her mother's eyes narrowed. "The library? Is that all? Did you at least do something productive?"

Haein clenched her fists under the table, feeling the familiar sting of her mother's disappointment. "Yes, Mother. I studied," she answered, trying to keep her voice steady.

Her mother nodded, already turning back to Soo-cheol. "Good. Don't waste your time with pointless things."

The words hit her like a slap. Pointless. That was how her mother saw her interests, her efforts. Her love of reading, her curiosity-it was all meaningless to them.

Haein bit her lip and looked down at her plate, her appetite suddenly gone. As dinner continued, she felt a deep sense of isolation settle over her like a heavy blanket. She was alone. Truly alone.

Later that night, Haein lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. She thought about the album, the missing photographs, and her mother's cold dismissal. She realised she had to protect herself. No one else would. She needed to build walls around her heart, thick and high, to keep the pain out.

The next morning, Haein woke up early. She dressed herself, brushed her hair, and prepared for school without a word. She looked at herself in the mirror and practised a smile, a smile that didn't reach her eyes, a smile that would show the world that she was fine, that nothing could touch her. It was a mask, a shield she would wear every day.

At school, she kept to herself more than ever. She focused on her studies, not bothering to engage with her classmates. When they tried to speak to her, she replied politely but distantly, never letting them get too close. Her teachers noticed the change but didn't know what to say. The once bright and eager girl had become a quiet, reserved shadow.

One day, during a break, a girl from her class approached her with a shy smile. "Haein, would you like to come play with us?" she asked, her eyes hopeful.

Haein looked at her, her expression unreadable. She thought about saying yes, about joining the other kids and laughing with them, but the image of the empty photo album flashed in her mind. She shook her head. "No, thank you," she said quietly, turning back to her book.

The girl looked disappointed, but she nodded and left. Haein watched her go, a small part of her aching to call her back, but she stayed silent. It was easier this way, safer. She wouldn't be hurt again.

As the days passed, Haein's icy demeanour became more pronounced. She was polite but distant, smart but unapproachable. Her classmates began to call her "the Ice Queen," a nickname that spread quickly. It was meant to be teasing, but Haein took it as a compliment. If they saw her as cold, that was good. It meant they wouldn't try to get close, wouldn't have the chance to hurt her.

Her mother noticed the change as well. One evening, she looked at Haein with a frown. "Why don't you try to be more friendly, Haein? You're always so distant," she said, almost as if the coldness in Haein's eyes was something new and unexpected.

Haein's reply was soft but firm. "I don't need friends, Mother. I'm fine on my own."

Her mother sighed, a mixture of frustration and resignation in her eyes. "Suit yourself," she muttered, before turning away.

Haein watched her go, her heart aching but her face expressionless. She had made her decision. She would be strong, unyielding. She would protect herself from the pain that seemed to follow her like a shadow.

By the end of her tenth year, Haein had earned a reputation at school for being untouchable, aloof, the "Ice Queen" who kept everyone at arm's length. But inside, she was still a little girl who wanted to be loved, who wanted someone to see past the walls she had built. She just didn't know if anyone ever would.