PERFECT (F4 THAILAND)

loneliness (18)

“Do you want to play, Rose?” one of the girls in her class had asked her once, a wide, excited grin on her face. Rose had nodded eagerly, heart blooming like a sunlit flower. But as soon as they went outside, the girl had run off to play with the others, leaving Rose behind. Alone, once again.
She sat on the swings, kicking her feet gently against the ground, eyes searching the sky for something softer than the ache inside her chest.

At first, she’d been excited—new people, new games, a new world to explore. But that excitement withered fast, like petals under frost.

It was always the same.
She’d walk into the bright, bustling classroom, and the other children would already be clustered in their little worlds—laughing, talking, holding hands like their hearts had always known one another.
There was never space for her.

Every day, she sat at the back, tiny hands folded in her lap, staring at the floor while the other kids lived out their joy in vivid color.

She heard their laughter, felt the warmth in their voices, but it never reached her.
It was like watching life through a glass window—close enough to see, never close enough to touch.

She hated the bright lights. The noise. The children who moved through the world with such ease, as if they were born knowing where they belonged.

She sat in the corner, a quiet shadow, watching joy bloom all around her—just never for her.

At the dinner table, the clink of silverware on porcelain echoed through the empty air.
Their words—a soft hum, blurred and distant—never quite made it to her.

Rose would sit quietly, pushing food around her plate, waiting.
Waiting for someone to ask how her day was.

But the questions never came.
.
.

One day, after an especially lonely day at school, she came home to find her mother in the kitchen, phone tucked between shoulder and ear.

Her father was already halfway out the door, bag slung over his shoulder like he couldn’t wait to leave.

“Mom,” Rose called gently from the doorway.

“Can we go get ice cream? Or maybe play a game?”

Her mother didn’t even look up. “In a minute, sweetie. I’m busy right now. Go play with your brother.”

Rose’s heart sank, heavy and familiar.

It was always the same.
No time.

She climbed the stairs slowly, dragging her feet like they were too tired to carry one more disappointment.

As she passed by her brother’s room, she heard the soft sound of his voice.

Without thinking, she pushed open the door.

“Ray?” Her voice was barely there, just a breath, a hope.

He would be sitting on the bed studying for school, his back turned to her. But as soon as he heard her voice, he would turn with a smile, a smile that made the world feel a little less empty.

“Can you play with me?” she would ask, eyes wide and hopeful.
Her brother was the only one who ever seemed to understand.

He wasn’t like their parents, too busy to notice or too tired to care.

Ray always made time for her. Even after a long day of school, when his friends were waiting for him, he would stay with her, play with her, talk to her.

“Of course,” he said gently, rising to meet her. “What game do you wanna play?”

He always made her feel like she mattered. Like she wasn’t a footnote in someone else’s story.