The classroom buzzed with laughter and chatter, a symphony of carefree energy that Samiya could never seem to harmonize with. She sat at her usual spot in the far corner, a quiet observer of lives she could never quite touch. Her notebook lay open before her, its pages clear and empty, a mirror of the void she felt inside. The hum of her classmates' banter washed over her, but none of it reached her. She was alone in a crowd, a spectator in a world that didn't see her. "Hey, Safiyah!" Amira's cheerful voice sliced through her solitude. Safiyah blinked, startled, as her vibrant classmate leaned over her desk with an easy grin. "We're going to the mall after school. Want to come?" For a moment, Safiyah hesitated, the offer dangling before her like an outstretched hand. She wanted to say yes, to let herself be swept into the carefree current of Amira's world. But the walls of her mental prison were unyielding, and the memories lurking behind them held her back. She forced a small, apologetic smile. "No, thanks. I have... homework." Amira tilted her head, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face before she shrugged. "Suit yourself. Let me know if you change your mind." As Amira walked away, her laughter quickly blending with the noise of the room, Safiyah felt a pang of longing so sharp it made her chest ache. She envied Amira's simplicity, her ability to laugh without the weight of invisible chains dragging her down. Safiyah couldn't even remember the last time she had laughed - a real laugh, the kind that bubbled up without hesitation or fear.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of monotony. At lunch, Safiyah sat alone in her usual spot by the window, her tray untouched. Around her, clusters of students filled the cafeteria with their lively chatter and inside jokes. They seemed so normal, so untouched by the storms she battled every day. She let her gaze drift across the room, watching Amira animatedly recounting a story to their group of friends. They threw their heads back in laughter, their joy so effortless it was almost painful to witness. Safiyah looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wasn't like them. She couldn't be. Tucked safely in her bag was her diary, the one place where her truth could exist without judgment. She thought about pulling it out right there at the table, letting her pen bleed out the thoughts suffocating her. But the risk of someone seeing was too great. She wasn't ready for anyone to know. That evening, the house was as quiet as ever. Safiyah's parents were home but barely present, their voices distant from behind closed doors. It had been this way for years. Her mother was always busy with social events or scrolling through her phone. Her father, though physically present, seemed to exist in another realm entirely, his eyes glued to the evening news or work emails. Safiyah had given up on trying to make them notice her long ago. In her room, she sat cross-legged on her bed, the diary open in front of her. She stared at its blank pages, her heart heavy with the words that demanded to be freed. Picking up her pen, she began to write, her movements slow at first but gaining momentum as her emotions spilled out. "Everyone thinks I'm just quite and shy. They don't know that inside, I'm screaming. They don't know that every smile I give them is a lie.

They don't know that every night, I relive the worst moments of my life." Her hand trembled as she wrote, the memories clawing at her like a wildanimal. She thought about her uncle, about the way his shadow had loomed over her childhood, stealing her innocence and shattering her sense of safety. She thought about the way her parents had been too distracted, too blind, to see the pain that etched itself into her being. She wrote about the emptiness that consumed her, the suffocating weight of feeling unloved and unseen. She wrote until her hand cramped, the ink smudging under the pressure of her grip. When she finally stopped, the page was filled with her pain, raw and unfiltered. A strange sense of relief washedover her as she placed the pen down. The diary couldn't judge her, couldn't dismiss her or tell her to move on. It just was, a silent witness to the storm inside her. For the first time, she felt the faintest glimmer of release, like the tiniest crack in her prison walls. Safiyah closed the diary and set it on her bedside table, her fingers lingering on its cover. The storm inside her hadn't passed, but for the first time, it felt less suffocating. She wasn't sure what tomorrow would bring, but for tonight, she allowed herself a fragile sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she had taken the first step toward freedom.