Whispers of an invisible girl

Chapter 4: Silent Cry for help

Celeste sat in her usual spot at lunch, tucked away in the shaded corner of the school's courtyard. Her headphones were on, music playing loudly to drown out the background noise of students chatting and laughing. From the outside, she seemed calm———composed, even. Her friends were scattered around the courtyard, caught up in their conversations, but celeste remained slightly apart, leaning her back against a tree, as though distancing herself from the world around her.

She stared blankly at the grass, fidgeting with the cord of her headphones. The conversations around her felt muffled, like they were happening in another reality entirely. She could hear fragments of laughter, the sound of friends teasing one another, but none of it felt like it applied to her. It was like watching life unfold through a glass wall——close enough to observe, but too far away to be part of it.

"Celeste!" a voice snapped her back to the present. It was her friend, Leah, waving at her from a few feet away. "Hey, are you even listening?"

Celeste quickly pulled one side of her headphones off, blinking at Leah. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Leah rolled her eyes playfully. "I was asking if you wanted to go to that party this weekend. Everyone's going. You should come."

A weak smile crept onto Celeste's face. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe. I'll see how I feel."

Leah groaned. "Come on, you always say that, and then you never show up. Live a little, Celeste! It'll be fun. You can't keep skipping everything."

Celeste shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Yeah, maybe."

"Maybe isn't good enough." Leah gave her a knowing look but then turned to join another group of friends who were calling her over. "Just think about it, okay?" she called as she walked away.

Celeste's forced smile faded as soon as Leah turned her back. The truth was, Celeste wasn't sure she could handle a party. Lately, just making it through the school day felt like a monumental task. The thought of surrounding herself with more noise, more people, more pressure—it was suffocating. But she couldn't explain that to anyone. She couldn't explain the way the weight inside her chest made it hard to breathe sometimes, or how the simple act of pretending to be okay drained her more than anything else.

The same conversation repeated itself every week. Friends asking her to join them, her giving some excuse, them laughing it off and moving on. No one ever really asked why. No one ever pressed her to open up. Maybe they thought she was just shy or introverted. Maybe they didn't care enough to notice. Either way, Celeste felt like she was screaming inside, but the world around her couldn't hear her.

I wish someone would ask me how I really feel, she thought, her hand tightening around her phone. I wish someone would notice.

But every time she thought about opening up, actually telling someone what was going on inside her, the words got stuck. The fear of being a burden or not being understood always held her back. It was easier to stay quiet, to keep pretending everything was fine, even if it hurt.

Her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from her mom.

Mom: Remember to clean your room when you get home. I don't want to have to remind you again.

Celeste sighed and typed a quick reply.

Celeste: Okay, I will.

It was another example of the small, everyday interactions that made her feel invisible. No one asked how her day was going, or if she was okay. It was always about chores, school, or plans for the weekend. Even at home, she felt like she was just going through the motions—there but not really seen. Her parents were busy with their own lives, and Celeste didn't want to add to their stress by talking about how she felt.

She was used to hiding her sadness behind a mask of normalcy, but some days, like today, it felt impossible to keep up the act. The sadness was always there, quietly weighing her down, like an invisible anchor pulling her deeper into herself.

Across the courtyard, her friend Ava waved. "Celeste, are you coming to the library after lunch? We've got that group project to finish."

Celeste hesitated for a moment, her stomach tightening. She didn't have the energy for it, but she couldn't say no without drawing attention to herself.

"Yeah, I'll be there," she said, forcing another smile. Ava gave her a thumbs-up before turning back to the conversation she was having with another group of girls.

Celeste sighed, taking a deep breath as she leaned back against the tree. She put her headphones back on, turning up the volume of her music. Silent Cry by Stray Kids filled her ears, and the lyrics hit her like a wave.

"You're screaming out, without a sound. Your hands reach out, but no one's around."

She closed her eyes, letting the music wash over her. The words felt like they had been written just for her. Every lyric echoed the silent cry she had been carrying inside, the desperate plea for someone—anyone—to see through her façade and realize how much she was struggling. But no one did. She didn't blame her friends or her family for not noticing; after all, she had gotten so good at pretending to be fine.

"You're trying so hard to be okay, but no one sees how hard you're fighting."

Her throat tightened, and she could feel tears threatening to spill over, but she quickly blinked them away. She couldn't cry here, not where anyone could see. No one would understand. If they even noticed, they'd probably just brush it off or make a joke about her being emotional. And so, just like always, Celeste swallowed her sadness, forcing herself to keep it hidden.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch, and Celeste stood up, her body heavy with the weight of the day ahead. She gathered her things and walked back into the school building, surrounded by her friends but feeling completely alone.

As she walked down the crowded hallway, her phone buzzed again.

Leah: Don't forget about the party this weekend!

Celeste stared at the message for a moment before slipping her phone back into her pocket, her mind numb. She didn't have the energy to pretend anymore, but she didn't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden. So she did what she always did—she stayed silent, crying out for help in her own way, even though no one could hear.