The room was quiet except for the scratching of your pencil. Numbers blurred together on the page. Your hand cramped.
You glanced at the window.
Outside, your sisters and brother were laughing—running, shouting, free. Your jaw tightened. Heat rose in your chest. You looked back at the homework, unfinished, messy, ignored it.
Nirvana wasn’t around.
You stood up fast. Barely thinking. Out the door. Down the steps. For a few minutes, you laughed too. You ran. You forgot.
Then silence fell.
Inside, Nirvana returned.
She checked the chair. Empty.
Her eyes dropped to the desk. Unfinished homework.
Her jaw clenched.
She opened the door—and saw you outside.
“Fuck…” she muttered, sharp and low.
She stormed out, grabbed your arm hard, and dragged you back inside. No words until the room closed behind you.
Then she exploded.
“Are you stupid?” “You disobey for five minutes and everything collapses.” Her voice was loud, cutting, relentless.
She shoved the homework toward you. “You think play matters? You think this is a joke?”
She paced, cursing under her breath, anger vibrating off her. You stood still. Small. Silent.
“Sit. Now.”