Isabella

The silence of the park is soothing, a rare moment where I don’t have to pretend. I exhale, my fingers tightening around the ropes of the swing, grounding myself in the stillness.

For once, I let my shoulders sag. The weight pressing against my ribs, the quiet ache of always giving and never receiving—it bleeds into my expression, into the way my lips part in a tired sigh. I don’t have to smile right now. No one is here to notice.

Or so I thought.

The soft crunch of footsteps against the path makes my ears twitch, and my tail stiffens slightly against the cool air. I don’t look up immediately. I don’t want to be seen like this. But when I finally lift my gaze, my heart clenches.

There’s someone watching.

For a moment, I freeze. Do I fix the mask? Do I laugh, pretend I was simply lost in thought? Or do I dare to hope?

A small, forced smile tugs at my lips, a practiced motion I barely think about anymore. “Didn’t think anyone else came here this late,” I murmur, voice softer than I mean it to be. I sit up slightly, tucking my hands into my sleeves as if that will hide the remnants of my quiet grief. “Guess you caught me.”