■ A Quiet Kind of Peace
Morning came too soon.
The house was still when I left — my sister-in-law asleep, my brother getting ready for work.
No one noticed that I slipped out without breakfast.
The sky was overcast, the air heavy after the rain. I walked fast, my shoes splashing through shallow puddles. Maybe if I moved quickly enough, the emptiness in my chest wouldn't feel so loud.
By the time I reached campus, I was tired — but Jisan's message blinked on my phone.
Library. Usual corner.
---
The college library was quiet, the kind of silence I loved — soft pages turning, distant whispers, the faint scent of old books and coffee.
Jisan was already there, sitting by the window, sunlight glinting off his watch.
When he looked up and smiled, something in me eased a little.
"You look tired," he said softly.
"I didn't sleep well."
He pushed a small chocolate bar across the table. "Breakfast substitute. Don't argue."
I smiled weakly. "Thank you."
We sat in easy silence for a while — he scrolling through notes, me pretending to read.
But my thoughts kept circling, restless.
Finally, I asked the question that had been lingering in my heart for a long time.
"Jisan… can I ask you something?"
He looked up immediately. "Of course."
"Why me?"
He blinked. "Why you… what?"
"Why are we even friends?" I said quietly, fingers tracing the edge of my notebook. "You could have anyone. Everyone wants to talk to you. Be around you. You're…"
I hesitated, searching for the right word.
"…you're the kind of person people notice. And I'm… not."
His smile faded a little, replaced by something softer — something real.
"Because you don't treat me like that," he said simply.
I frowned. "Like what?"
"Like a name. Like a wallet. Like I'm some kind of ticket to a better life." He leaned back, gaze thoughtful. "Everyone wants something. Fame, money, connections. But you… you just listen. You don't expect anything from me. You don't try to change yourself to fit in."
He paused, a small, wistful smile touching his lips.
"With you, I can breathe. That's rare."
I didn't know what to say. No one had ever said something like that to me.
My throat felt tight.
He looked down, tapping his pen against the table. "You think you're boring, Anya. But peace isn't boring. It's… something people like me crave."
I lowered my gaze, my heart strangely full and aching at the same time.
I wanted to tell him how much his words meant, how his friendship was the only bright thing in my life — but the words stuck.
Instead, I just whispered, "You're kind, Jisan."
He laughed quietly. "No, just lucky."
Outside, the sky darkened again, clouds gathering — as if rain was never far from me.
But this time, sitting across from him, it didn't feel as lonely.
For a while, we read in silence.
And for that small, fragile hour in the library, I almost forgot how much the world hurt.
■ The Debt
The evening sky was gray again, heavy with unshed rain.
I walked home slower than usual, holding my books close, still thinking about Jisan's words in the library.
For once, the day hadn't been so heavy.
For once, I'd felt seen.
But the moment I turned the corner to our house, my steps froze.
The front door was wide open.
The sound of muffled sobs carried through the air.
I rushed inside.
Everything was chaos.
Drawers pulled out, cupboards broken, glass shattered across the floor. The smell of fear lingered like smoke.
My sister-in-law sat on the couch, tears streaking her face, her arms wrapped around my two little nieces who were crying loudly.
My brother stood near the doorway, his hair disheveled, hands trembling slightly as he pressed them against his temples.
"What happened?" I whispered, my voice barely steady. "Was it thieves?"
My sister-in-law looked up at me, eyes red, voice breaking.
"Worse."
My brother's jaw tightened. He didn't look at me when he spoke.
"They weren't thieves."
"Then who—?"
"People from the company," he said flatly. "Debt collectors."
The words didn't make sense at first.
"Debt? What debt?"
He exhaled shakily. "Your sister-in-law's brother… he took a loan. Five million. He used our address as collateral. And now he's disappeared."
My eyes widened. "He—he ran away?"
My sister-in-law broke into sobs again. "He said it was for business! He promised he'd pay it back! I didn't know he used our house!"
"So they came here," my brother continued quietly, voice heavy. "They said if the money isn't repaid, they'll take legal action. Or worse."
"Worse?"
He didn't answer — just looked around at the wrecked room. That was answer enough.
I sank onto a chair, the world spinning around me.
Five million.
It might as well have been five hundred million. We could barely afford groceries some days.
My sister-in-law's voice trembled, full of fear. "They said we have a week. Just one week before they come again."
My brother clenched his fists. "I'll try to talk to the company. Maybe arrange something—"
She turned on him, tears mixing with anger. "Talk? They don't care about talking! They said they'll destroy us if we don't pay! This is your fault! You let him use our address!"
He flinched but said nothing.
The children were still crying. The sound pierced through me like glass.
I looked at my brother — the man who had raised me when no one else would, who worked day and night just to keep us alive — and I saw something I had never seen in his eyes before.
Hopelessness.
I didn't know what to do.
Didn't know how to help.
So I did what I always do — I picked up the broken pieces of glass quietly while the world fell apart around me.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every sound outside made me jump — every car that passed made me fear they had returned.
The rain came again, soft but relentless.
I pressed my forehead against the cold window and whispered,
"Please… not him. Not my family. Take anything, but not them."
But prayers felt small in a world ruled by power and money.
And somewhere, in the city's heart, behind tall glass towers, a man named Ariyan Vincent Romano owned the company that the debt collectors worked for —
and he didn't even know the name Anya Hazel yet.