tears of mercury | beastars

chapter 25. FAINT ECHOES IN THE SILENCE

𖤣𖥧.𖤣𖥧𓆏𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧
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The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of (Name)'s dorm room, casting delicate patterns on the walls. The warmth of the rays did little to ease the weight in her chest.

Today was one of those days-the kind where the silence around her felt deafening, the kind where her mind was a battlefield of memories and unanswered questions.

She sat by her study table, staring at the letter in her hand. It was from her mother, a rare occurrence given how strained their relationship had become since her brother's death.

The letter carried the scent of lavender, an almost mocking reminder of her mother's distant world-a life of generational wealth on another continent, far removed from the struggles (Name) faced daily.

"Darling," the letter began in her mother's neat handwriting, "your grandparents and I have decided it would be best for you to join us after your graduation. The estate here is vast, and we can provide you with every opportunity you could ever need. I miss you dearly, and I believe this is the right decision for you."

(Name) let out a bitter laugh, the words feeling hollow.

Her mother's parents had always been distant figures, their affection tied to their status and wealth. They had never approved of her father, a renowned detective working under Yahya, the legendary Beastar. They considered him too ordinary for their daughter.

The divorce had only deepened their disdain, and her mother's return to their fold after his death felt more like an escape than a choice.

Her thoughts shifted to her father. Despite his busy career, he had always been present in her life, offering quiet support when she needed it most. After the divorce, he had taken on the role of both parent and confidant, trying to shield (Name) from the storm of grief that followed them.

But now, even he seemed unsure of their future. During their last phone call, he mentioned his upcoming marriage proposal to his girlfriend-a kind and understanding woman who had been part of his life for years.

"She's good for me, (Name)," he had said, his tone gentle yet hesitant. "I want you to meet her more properly. And. . . we need to talk about what's next for you. Your mother's parents have been persistent."

The idea of being forced to choose between her parents was suffocating.

She had always been closer to her father, but she couldn't ignore the pull of her mother's fragile state. Depression had consumed her, leaving her a shell of the vibrant woman (Name) once knew.

A part of her felt responsible, as if staying with her mother might somehow help her heal.

Yet, another part of her bristled at the thought of abandoning the life she had built at Cherryton, the friendships she had forged, and the sense of purpose she was beginning to rediscover.

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The cafeteria was buzzing with the usual lunchtime chatter as (Name) picked at her meal. Her omnivorous friends noticed her uncharacteristic strange mood. Chinen leaned in, her voice soft with concern.

"You've been quiet lately, (Name). What's going on?"

She hesitated, unsure if she was ready to share the turmoil brewing inside her. But as the words tumbled out, she found herself telling them everything-the letter, her father's uncertainty, the weight of having to choose.

Jiro, always the pragmatist, frowned. "It's not fair for them to put this on you. We're graduating soon. Shouldn't this be your decision?"

Ichiro nodded in agreement. "You're an adult, (Name). Maybe it's time to think about what you want, not what they expect."

Their words offered some comfort, but they also highlighted the truth she had been avoiding. For so long, she had lived her life trying to meet the expectations of others-her mother, her father, even the memory of her brother.

What did she want for herself?

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That evening, (Name) visited the auditorium. The empty stage had always been a sanctuary for her, a place where she could confront her emotions without judgment. As she lay sprawled in the middle, her thoughts turned to her brother once again.

Lucas had been the glue that held their family together, his laughter and optimism is like a beacon of light. His absence had left a void no one could fill. She often wondered what he would say if he were here now.

Would he urge her to follow her heart, to break free from the chains of expectation?

Or would he remind her of their mother's fragile state, of her need for support?

Fingers twitching beside her, wanting to express what she felt. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed. "I don't know what to do, Lucas," she whispered to the empty room. "I feel like I'm being torn apart."

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The next day, (Name) received an unexpected visit. Her father stood at the dormitory entrance, his towering figure unmistakable. She hadn't seen him in weeks, his work has often kept him busy.

"Hey, kiddo," he greeted with a warm smile. "Mind if we talk?"

They walked to a nearby park, the quiet paths offering a sense of privacy. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence filled with unspoken words.

Finally, her father broke the tension.

"I know this isn't easy for you," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I've been thinking a lot about what's best for you. And honestly? I'm torn."

(Name) looked at him, her chest tightening. "Dad, you're thinking about giving up custody, aren't you?"

He sighed and stopped walking, running a hand through his graying hair. "Your mother's parents can provide you with opportunities I can't. They have the resources, the connections. . . but that doesn't mean I want to let you go. You're my little girl, (Name). I want to be there for you, to see you grow and succeed."

"Then why does it feel like you're already letting me go?" she replied, her voice only above a whisper.

Her father turned to face her, one of his hand atop her shoulder. His eyes were filled with both regret and love. "Because I want what's best for you. And maybe. . . maybe I don't know what that is anymore."

The conversation left (Name) more conflicted than ever.

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That night, she found herself writing a letter to her mother. She poured out her thoughts and feelings, the act of putting pen to paper offering a sense of clarity.

"Mother," she wrote, "I know you want what's best for me, but I need time to figure out what that is. I can't make this decision right now. Please understand. Yours Truly. . ."

As she sealed the letter, a sense of resolve washed over her.

She didn't have all the answers, but for the first time, she felt a spark of urgency in her own future.

✅ EDITED