n, staring at the ceiling as if it might answer her unspoken questions. She'd closed the curtains tight-no moonlight to guide her, just blackness-but that only made her thoughts sw

ought set her eyes ablaze. She slammed her fist gently on the bathroom counter and stumbled back, winded by guilt. The night snowballed: every future she imagined ended with her shamed, her world collapsed, her dreams dying. In the deepest hours, tears pricked at her eyes. She sank to the floor, back against the cold tile, sweeping her head into her hands. She whispered the wrongs she'd endured: "You can't avoid who you are. You can't pretend forever." Her phone's battery died long ago. She was alone with her thoughts-the relentless, searing thoughts. It wasn't until sunlight bled around the curtains that she finally slipped toward sleep, exhaustion fogging her consciousness. As the early dawn cracked, her mind quieted. She let herself drift... at peace for the first time in hours. Morning came too soon. The alarm clock shattered the pre-dawn calm-loud, piercing, unrelenting. It felt like a gunshot. Ann jolted upright, heart pounding. She blinked, disoriented, her body still heavy from the emotional overload of the previous night. The digital display glared: 9:58 AM. Her lectures had started at 8:00 AM. "Fuck!" she gasped, blood rushing to her face. She shot out of bed, still dizzy, and all at once she was on her feet. She barely processed the bland furnishings: the bed sheets half-pulled off, her clothes scattered across the dresser, the laptop glowing with a paused episode of a cheesy romance. Her mind flooded with panic. "If I don't go again today, I'll be labeled a coward. A weakling. A runaway. They'll say I'm scared of him. I can't let them. But how do I even get there?" She froze by the bedroom door, breath ragged. Buses left the student complex twice an hour. The last one probably left at 8:00. The next one wouldn't be until 11:00-too late. Walking would cost her most of her weekly allowance on taxis. But she could survive. She had to. Labeling herself weak was worse than any exhaustion or shame. Nothing-but nothing-would stop her from going today. That morning at 10:18 AM, stood at her fridge, she grabbed a bruised apple and bit down hard. The tart flavor woke her reviving fog. Just then, the door flew open. Judith stumbled in, eyes red-rimmed, hair messy, clutching a big tote bag like it was her li