At twelve years old, Hong Haein found herself in an unfamiliar and unforgiving environment: middle school. Gone were the elementary days when academic achievements were enough to define her. Now, in this strange, new world, friendships and social circles seemed to matter more than grades.
The summer had come and gone, and with it, the international leadership camp where Haein had proved her brilliance once again. But as always, her achievements had gone unnoticed at home. Her mother was absent, busy with another business trip overseas. Her father was a ghost in their mansion, always working late into the night, and Soo-cheol had started to form a life of his own. He was already more favoured by their parents, even when he only achieved mediocrity. His every effort was celebrated as if it were a monumental success, while Haein’s remained invisible.
As she stepped into her first day of middle school, she couldn't shake the feeling of isolation. The students around her were forming new groups, whispering to each other, sharing stories about their summers, and bonding over common interests. Haein, however, stood alone. No one approached her, and she didn’t try to reach out either. It had become second nature by now—to keep her distance, to maintain that icy barrier she had so carefully constructed.
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Lunch Break
It didn’t take long for Haein to realise that middle school was different. Unlike elementary school, where she could easily bury herself in books and quietly dominate the top spot in every subject, middle school was a battlefield of social hierarchies. Friendships were currency, and Haein had none.
During lunch, she sat alone, her tray of food untouched. The other girls in her class had already formed tight-knit cliques. Their laughter and chatter filled the cafeteria, but none of it reached Haein. They didn’t mock her; they simply didn’t see her.
On the outside, she maintained her cold, indifferent expression. But inside, something cracked a little more each day. She didn’t want to admit it, not even to herself, but the loneliness gnawed at her. She was surrounded by people, yet she had never felt more alone.
As the days turned into weeks, Haein noticed that even her teachers had started to treat her differently. They were used to her excellence, and now they expected nothing less. No one offered words of encouragement anymore. No one congratulated her when she aced a test. It was as if she had become invisible, not because she was failing, but because her success had become so predictable that it no longer mattered.
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The Encounter
One afternoon, after another day of classes, Haein was packing her bag when a girl from her class approached her. Her name was Do Dohee, one of the popular girls, always surrounded by friends. Haein raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden interaction.
"Hey" Dohee said, her voice soft but uncertain. "You’re always by yourself. Do you want to hang out with us?"
For a moment, Haein hesitated. She wasn’t used to this—someone actually noticing her, someone offering to include her. But then she quickly pushed the thought away. She couldn’t afford to let anyone close. People only hurt you in the end, and Haein had learned that lesson well enough from her family.
"No, thank you" Haein replied, her voice cold and distant. She turned her back and walked away, not waiting for a response.
As she left the classroom, she could feel the weight of Dohee’s gaze on her back, but she didn’t turn around. Haein didn’t need friends. She didn’t need anyone. That’s what she told herself, over and over again, until the lie almost felt like the truth.
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The Birthday That Never Came
Later that month, Haein’s twelfth birthday arrived. It was a day she had stopped looking forward to years ago. Still, a small, foolish part of her hoped that this year might be different. Maybe this year her mother would remember. Maybe her father would take a break from his work, just for a moment.
The morning came and went without a word from her parents. There was no cake, no presents, not even a simple "happy birthday." By evening, Haein was sitting alone in the large dining room, staring at the empty seat where her mother used to sit when she was around. The house felt colder than ever, the silence deafening.
That night, Haein made herself a promise. She would never let herself hope for something so foolish again. Birthdays, family, love—it was all meaningless. If her own parents didn’t care, why should she?
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The Report Card
Despite everything, Haein continued to excel academically. At the end of the term, she received her report card, as expected, filled with straight A’s. She knew her mother wouldn’t care, and her father wouldn’t bother to look at it. But something in her still craved acknowledgement, even if it was a hopeless desire.
She brought the report card home, leaving it on the kitchen counter where her mother used to sit. Maybe, just maybe, someone would notice. But as the hours passed, it remained untouched. Haein sat in her room, waiting for any sign of recognition, but the house remained silent.
It wasn’t until Soo-cheol came home that the report card finally disappeared. He had come in with his usual smile, chatting about his day, while Haein remained quiet as usual. As he passed the kitchen, he picked up the report card, glanced at it, and chuckled.
"Of course, you got all A’s" he said, almost dismissively. "Why wouldn’t you? You’re perfect, after all."
There was no warmth in his words, no congratulations, just the usual indifference. He tossed the report card back onto the counter and walked away, leaving Haein to stare at the piece of paper that had meant so much to her a few hours ago.
That night, Haein sat on her bed, clutching the report card in her hands. The paper crinkled under her grip as a single tear slipped down her cheek. She wiped it away quickly, her face hardening once again. Tears were for the weak, and she wasn’t weak.
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A New Resolve
By the end of the year, Haein had come to terms with her reality. Her family would never care, and she would never let herself care about them either. She was alone, but she was strong. She would build her empire on her own, brick by brick, without anyone’s help. She didn’t need friends, she didn’t need family, and she certainly didn’t need love.
In the silence of her room, she repeated the mantra she had come to live by: "I am enough."
YOU ARE READING
Solstice in Grandeur
Aléatoire"Solstice in Grandeur" follows Hong Haein, the daughter of Asia's richest family, whose life of opulence is marred by isolation and emotional distance. Despite living in luxury, she is emotionally neglected by her constantly absent parents and strug...
