LILY POV
1090 Words
I sat quietly by the window side, my arms wrapped around kneels, staring at the busy street like I was expecting a miracle to happen a sign, a narrow way out. The wind outside blew in stirring the new curtains, carrying the scent of rain and fresh dust. This house, these streets, this life… all of it felt like a cage I had long outgrown.
I’m tired.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of being watched.
Tired of holding in things I’ve never had the right words for.
When the offer came — the proposal, the arrangement — I didn’t hesitate. Not because I was desperate for love or eager to belong to someone, but because it was finally a way out. A door. A breath of air I hadn't had in years.
I don’t know him. Richard. The CEO. But people say he’s rich, powerful, cold. Maybe that’s exactly what I need — someone who feels nothing… because feelings complicate things.
I don’t need love. I’ve seen what it does to people. Love, in my world, is a silent destroyer. My mother once believed in it. Now, her eyes carry stories she’ll never tell me. And I, her first child — her “womb opener,” as she always reminded me — have somehow become a reflection of the pain she never learned to bury.
Lately, she looks at me like I’m a mirror she wants to smash.
She loves me. I know she does. But there’s a crack between us that keeps widening. One she won’t talk about. One I stopped asking about.
I hear the floor creak behind me and turn slightly. Lucas.
My younger brother.
He’s the only one who hasn’t changed — or maybe the only one who still sees me the same. He always brings light into every room, even when I’m drowning in the shadows. He called my name three times before I finally blinked out of my thoughts.
“Lily!”
I turned and smiled.
“Sorry. I was thinking,” I said softly.
He grinned and walked over, sliding beside me and showing me his phone. “Her name’s Ashley. We’ve been texting all night.”
I chuckled. “Another one?”
“She’s different,” he said, just like he always does. “I think I really like her this time.”
I nudged him. “You say that every time.”
“But this time I mean it!” he protested, laughing. “She reads poetry, Lily. Poetry!”
I laughed out loud, the sound surprising even me.
Lucas is seventeen but acts like he’s seen the world. He’s dated more girls than I can count — never cruel to them, just... always drifting. Never really staying. Maybe we’re alike that way. Love doesn’t mean a thing to either of us.
“I’m truly going to miss you,” I told him softly, my voice suddenly became gentle.
His smile faded instantly, and he
looked right away. “You know you don’t have to go,
You could just say no.
“I already said yes.”
“To a stranger?”
“To a future,” I whispered.
He frowned. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
We sat in silence looking at each other for a while. I looked at him his slightly crooked nose from falling off a bike decades ago, the scar on his jaw, his eyes were so cold and yet still so gentle when they looked at me.
“I’ll be alright ,” I said, more to convince myself than him.
“You’re always like that,” he murmured. “But no one asks if you want to be, he said.
I blinked, swallowing hard.
Lucas stood up and stretched. “Well, if he hurts you, I’m going to sue him. Or punch him. Or both.”
That made me laugh again. “I’ll let you know if he deserves it.”
“Keep your phone close,” he said, turning to the door. “And don’t fall in love with him.”
I snorted. “That won’t be a problem.”
Once he was gone, the silence returned, heavier this time. I looked around the room — the cracked wall paint, the faded photo frames, the hollow echo of a house too full of stories and too empty of warmth.
I glanced at the photo on the corner shelf — one from years ago. Me, Mom, Lucas. My stepfather’s kids in the background. All of us pretending.
I used to love this house, used to feel safe here. That was before everything changed. Before unspoken things started shaping who I became. Before silence became my only form of survival.
My stepfather's kids don’t talk to me much anymore. We used to play hide-and-seek in this house. Now, they barely acknowledge me. Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it’s not.
I didn’t ask for the things I carry. I didn’t choose this weight.
I exhaled slowly and stood up, brushing off my faded jeans. I walked to my half-brother’s room — the little one my mother had with her husband. He was asleep, curled up like a baby fox, his tiny fists balled beside his face.
He’s only five, but somehow he recognizes me more than anyone else. I’ve fed him, bathed him, held him through fevers. Sometimes he calls me “Mama,” and I never correct him.
Looking at him now, I wondered how he’ll grow up. What scars will shape him. What truths he’ll one day learn about this house.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Be better than all of us,” I whispered.
In the hallway, my mother’s voice called out faintly. “Lily?”
I paused, heart skipping.
“I’m going to the market,” she said, appearing briefly in the corridor without looking directly at me. Don't forget to Cook dinner . Don’t let it burn.”
“I won’t.”
She turned quickly, the way she always does these days. Like she’s afraid to look at me for too long. Like she might remember something she’s trying so hard to forget.
Or maybe… she already remembers too much.
I closed my eyes for a moment, hugging myself tighter.
This isn't a home anymore. Not for me.
So no, I’m not afraid of moving in with a cold CEO in some glass house filled with silence. I’ve lived in silence all my life.
And as for love?
It’s a fairytale I stopped reading years ago.
- Writer
