Chapter 1: Silence That Stays
Hello… my dear diary.
I woke up at 3 a.m. again today—not because I had to, but because sleep refused to stay. There was a strange heaviness in my chest, the kind that doesn’t let you rest no matter how tired you are. I kept thinking about my rank, my marks, my future… and the fear slowly wrapped itself around me until I couldn’t lie still anymore.
So I got up.
I opened my books and started studying, even though my eyes burned and the words blurred in front of me. It wasn’t about learning anymore—it was about escaping my thoughts.
After some time, my mom walked into the room. She glanced at me and said casually, “Your exams are over. Go and sleep, idiot.”
I nodded, pretending it was that simple. But even after lying down again, sleep didn’t come easily. It never does when your mind refuses to quiet down.
When I finally woke up, it was already 10 in the morning.
The house was silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence—but the kind that makes you feel like no one was ever really there. I walked into the living room and found a note on the table.
Breakfast is on the dining table. Lunch and dinner are in the fridge. Heat it and eat. Don’t skip. . But i glanced on my Tv thought i would never eat it . Yeah she was making differents but also seems weird i didn't felt eating. Suddenly!
My phone buzzed in my hand.
It was Dad.
“Dear, I’m going on a business trip. I’ll be back next week. Take care.”we will meet on next week
That was all
I Didn't think of it i just ignore it .I was sitting on the sofa in the living room .I was just scrolling my phone . Suddenly my favourite artist appeared
That’s when I saw it.
A post about a famous artist. An exhibition in Paris. Something that happens only once in five years.
For a moment, I just stared at the screen.
And then, without warning, a thought crossed my mind.
What if I go?
It sounded ridiculous.
Irresponsible. Unreal.
But staying here felt worse. Because i usually don't like to make friends soo i am alone . I don't trust anyone. I love to read boks and most importantly i love painting
I looked around my room—books scattered everywhere, paintings covering the walls, a life that looked full but felt empty. Maybe… just this once, I wanted to do something for myself.
That night, I waited.
The house was quiet again, just like always. I knew my mom would come home late. She always does. Every day, they lock the door and leave the key inside the old post box outside. They think I don’t know.
But I do.
I stood near the door for a long time, my thoughts pulling me back and forth. Leaving felt wrong. Staying felt worse.
Slowly, I stepped outside.
My hands trembled as I took the key from the post box. Not because I was afraid of getting caught—but because I knew no one would even notice I was gone.
And somehow… that hurt more.
I booked a ticket.
2 a.m.
By 1 a.m., I was at the airport, sitting alone, watching people come and go. Some were leaving, some were returning, some were being hugged, some were being missed.
I wondered what it felt like… to be waited for.
The announcement for my flight echoed through the hall.
I stood up slowly, my heart beating louder than the noise around me.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Then I took a deep breath.
And without looking back…
I walked forward.
Maybe this wasn’t just a trip.
Maybe…
this was my escape.
