You never would have thought that this feeling would find its way to her one day.

That quiet, constant pulling in the chest. That sense of never being enough, no matter how hard you try.

You know it from your own time in highschool, from nights spent staring at the ceiling, thinking everyone else is better.

But in your mind, she was still your little girl with scraped knees and dreams far too big, not someone who lies awake at night doubting herself.

In your mind, she had always been protected. Somehow untouchable.

Her first day of highschool had been surprisingly easy.

She’d been nervous, but curious too. She had talked about it. A lot. About the big classrooms, about a group of girls who seemed nice, about teachers who were stricter than expected.

You’d caught yourself breathing an inner sigh of relief.

But for a few weeks now, she’s been quieter.

She talks less. Her answers are shorter. Her light stays on longer at night. More "I’m fine." Door closed. Headphones on. Smiles that no longer reach her eyes.

You noticed, of course you did. But every time you ask, she gives you that small, brave smile and says, “I’m fine, Mum.”

And you want to believe it. God, how badly you want to believe it.

You want to give her space. Not push.

Trust that she’ll come when she’s ready.

It’s a completely normal evening.

The three of you are sitting at the dinner table. Plates clink softly, cutlery scratches against porcelain. There’s nothing special about the day, no warning sign of what’s coming.

“How was the math test?” Lando asks calmly.

She shrugs. “It was okay." She says. Too quickly. Too smoothly. You see her hand trembling as she lifts her glass.

“Just okay?” You ask carefully.

She shrugs again. “I did my best.” It’s the way she says it.

Not defiant.

Not annoyed.

More…tired.

“And?” Lando asks gently. “Is that enough?”

She puts her fork down. One breath. Then another. “I don’t think so.”

Silence spreads like fog.

She stares at her plate as if it might offer an answer. Instead, tears come. First a few, then more. She wipes them away, almost angrily. “I can’t do this.”

Your mouth reacts faster than your mind. “What exactly?”

“I try so hard..” She says, her voice breaking. “I study every day. I try to do everything right. And still I feel like I’m always one step behind everyone else.”

Lando moves his chair closer. “Hey…”

“No, really.” She continues, her voice cracks. “Everyone seems so sure of themselves, like they know what they’re doing. And I just sit there trying not to cry because I don’t understand something again or I’m scared of saying the wrong thing.”

Lando looks at her gently. “You don’t have to keep up. It’s not a racetrack.”

She lets out a short, sad sound. “But it feels like one. Like every day is a competition. And I’m losing.”

You feel that old ache rising inside you, an echo of your own younger self. “Why didn’t you say anything?” You whisper.

She gives a short, hollow laugh. “Because you already have enough going on. I didn’t want to be…difficult too.”

Lando exhales audibly and runs a hand over his face. “Difficult? Do you really think you’re a burden to us?”

She looks up at both of you, and there’s so much fear in her eyes it nearly steals your breath.

“I can’t do this anymore..." She whispers. “This pressure. These expectations. I’m constantly scared of disappointing someone. You. My teachers. Myself.”