5 Days

72 hours

I woke up to the faint smell of something cooking. For a moment, I forgot where I was, but then I remembered—Marylle’s house. I stretched and rolled out of bed, following the scent to the kitchen. She was there, standing in front of the stove, making eggs and cup noodles.

"Good morning," she greeted with a warm smile.

"Good morning, Marylle," I replied, rubbing my eyes.

"How was your sleep last night?" she asked, her voice light, teasing.

I smirked, feeling a slight headache from the events of the night before. "It was alright, though I’m still a little dizzy," I admitted. "But yeah, last night was... great."

She glanced over her shoulder with a grin that was almost too knowing. "Last night was really something." She teased, her eyes playful.

I felt my face heat up. "Yeah, it... felt great," I mumbled, trying to sound casual, but I couldn’t meet her eyes. She burst out laughing.

"I thought you said we’re still minors, huh?" She teased again, nudging me with her elbow.

"Stop teasing me, I’m already embarrassed!" I groaned, covering my face with my hands.

Marylle giggled, enjoying every second of it. "I knew you couldn’t resist my kiss," she added, her laughter echoing through the small kitchen.

"Okay, you really need to stop," I muttered, my face burning.

"You’re so cute when you blush," she teased again, still laughing as she handed me a plate of eggs and noodles. "But before you die of embarrassment, eat—your food’s getting cold."

We sat down and ate in comfortable silence. As much as her teasing embarrassed me, I couldn’t help but smile. There was something comforting about moments like this—just the two of us, away from everything else.

After breakfast, we headed to school together. Today was the day we’d get our report cards, and Marylle was excited, practically skipping beside me. Last semester, she’d scored an impressive 94 average, and I had scraped by with an 86.

"You think you did better this time?" she asked, her voice full of hope.

"I don’t know," I said honestly. "I tried harder, but I guess we’ll see."

As we waited for the report cards, my heart pounded in my chest. When the teacher finally handed them out, I hesitated before opening mine. I could already feel a lump forming in my throat.

Marylle opened hers first, her eyes lighting up. "96!" she beamed, turning to show me. "I beat my record!"

I smiled, trying to be happy for her, but all I could think about was my own card. I slowly unfolded it, my stomach dropping as I saw the numbers. 87. Only one point higher than last semester. I stared at the card, my mind swirling with a mix of emotions—anger, frustration, jealousy. How could Marylle get a 96 so effortlessly, while I struggled just to pass?

I forced a smile, but the words caught in my throat. "I guess my best wasn’t enough," I whispered, barely audible.

Marylle noticed the change in my mood immediately. "Hey, don’t worry about it. You still improved, right?"

But her words felt hollow. How could I not worry? All I could think about was my mom—how she’d scream at me for not doing better. I was trying. I really was. But it never seemed like enough.

"Come on, don’t think about it too much," Marylle said, trying to cheer me up. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment gnawing at me. I was angry at myself—not just for my grades, but for feeling jealous of her. I should be happy for her, not envious.

"Do you think I’m a bad person?" I asked her suddenly, my voice quiet.

"What? No, absolutely not! Why would you even think that?" she responded, confused and concerned.

I didn’t answer, just forced another smile and looked away, trying to hide the storm of emotions swirling inside me. We walked in silence for a while, the weight of my thoughts pressing down on me.

On our way home, we stopped by the convenience store. Marylle bought us ice cream, trying to lift my spirits, but even the sweetness couldn’t shake the heaviness in my chest.

"When are you going back to your house?" she asked, her voice tentative.

I hesitated, thinking about the tension waiting for me at home. "Yeah, about that... I’m going back today," I said quietly.

"Why? I thought you hated it there?" she asked, frowning.

"I do," I admitted. "But... I need to take care of some stuff. I’ll be back tomorrow."

She looked at me for a long moment, then nodded, understanding. "Alright... just promise me you’ll be okay."

"I’ll be fine," I reassured her, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it myself.

Later that night, after I got home, I texted Marylle.

"Hey, I’m home already, how about you?" she asked.

"Yeah, I’m in my room right now," I replied.

"How’s everything going?" she sent back.

"It’s alright," I typed, pausing as I looked around the empty house. "They’re not here. Maybe they went somewhere."

We continued chatting for a while, her texts keeping me grounded as the house remained eerily quiet. Eventually, she fell asleep, and I was left alone with my thoughts.

That’s when I got to work. Tomorrow was our second anniversary, and I wanted to do something special for her. But I didn’t have enough money. So, I went to Facebook Marketplace and started selling whatever I didn’t need—old gadgets, clothes, even some books I hadn’t touched in years.

The hours dragged on, the silence of the house closing in on me as I waited for responses. Finally, after five long hours, I’d managed to gather 15k. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Enough to get her something nice—something that showed her how much she meant to me.

I stared at my phone, the money transfer complete, but the emptiness in my chest still lingered. I should’ve felt accomplished, but instead, all I felt was the same nagging doubt that had been haunting me all day.

The house was still quiet. Too quiet. I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I could really face tomorrow. Would the gift even be enough? Would it make up for the fact that I always felt like I was falling short—like no matter what I did, it was never good enough?

I sighed, closing my eyes, the weight of everything pulling me down.