The door is closed, lights dim except for the soft glow of your laptop screen. You're curled up on your bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you even though it’s warm. The day had been long, filled with moments that felt too heavy to carry. Your parents barely noticed when you came home, and when they did, their comments felt more like jabs than comfort.

You sniffled softly, trying to keep it together as the video call finally connected.

Simon’s face appeared on screen, his dark eyes instantly scanning your expression. He looked like he’d just come back from training — slightly sweaty, hoodie half-zipped, and concern written all over his face.

“Hey… you okay?”

You shook your head, biting your lip to stop it from trembling. “Not really.”

He didn’t ask right away — he waited, giving you space to speak first. You loved that about him.

“I… I tried to talk to them. About how I was feeling. But they didn’t even look up from their phones. Said I was being dramatic.”

You looked away from the screen. There was silence on the other end for a beat, but not the kind that hurt — the kind that let you know he was listening. Processing.

“You’re not dramatic.” His voice was low, gentle. “You’re hurting. That’s real. And I’m sorry they didn’t see that.”

You swallowed hard, voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t even want to skip that year. They made me. Said it’d be better for me and my sister. Like my future wasn’t mine anymore.”

Simon’s jaw tightened slightly, the muscle in his cheek flexing. “They don’t get to decide your worth. Or what you need.”

Tears welled in your eyes and finally fell, hot and uninvited.

“I just wanted someone to notice. To care. Feels like I’m drowning in a house full of people.”