The snow outside the tiny apartment window looked peaceful, but inside, life felt like a storm. Mina, only eight years old, sat cross-legged on the small floor, trying not to knock over the pile of clothes and books stacked in the corner. Her big brothers, Taro and Riku, were getting ready for school, rushing to make room in the tiny shared kitchen for breakfast.
Riku had left last year to stay in a home for older kids. Mina didn't see him much anymore, and even though she didn't always show it, she missed him terribly. Taro, now the only brother living with her, was still her protector, but even he couldn't fix the world that seemed to press on them from all sides.
Mina's parents were tired, worn from long days, and yet she could sense their worry in every sigh, every quiet argument whispered in the hallway. She learned quickly to step lightly, to smile when everyone else seemed exhausted, and to carry her own emotions silently.
School should have been simple: raise your hand, answer questions, get points, repeat. But it never felt that way. Mina was always paying attention, always participating, but somehow, it seemed like the world didn't notice. Even when she tried to laugh with friends, she felt invisible.
"Come on, Mina, eat your toast!" Taro nudged her gently. His messy hair fell into his eyes, and he looked older than his age, maybe because he had to be.
"I'm fine," Mina muttered, picking at the corner of her bread. She didn't want to argue. She didn't want to add another worry to anyone.
She remembered last year, the day Riku left. She had stood silently at the doorway, watching him walk away with a small bag slung over his shoulder. He had waved, but Mina hadn't waved back. Her throat had burned with unshed tears. No one had seen her cry that day, and maybe that was the only way she knew how to survive — keep emotions tucked away, fold them into invisible paper cranes, and carry them silently.
The school day passed slowly, each lesson dragging longer than the last. She raised her hand when Mrs. Hartley asked a question, but the teacher's eyes never reached her. Someone else got called first, someone else got the points. Mina didn't say anything. She learned long ago that arguing rarely helped.
During break, she noticed her friends huddled together, whispering and frowning. One had dropped her pencil, another had tears in her eyes over a small misunderstanding. Mina tried to make them laugh, telling small jokes and sharing her snacks, but one girl said sharply, "You don't understand. You'll never understand. You don't have a heart."
Mina's chest tightened. She wanted to shout, You don't know my life! She wanted to tell her about the tiny apartment, the empty kitchen, the nights she cried alone when everyone else slept. She wanted to say that she had carried more than most adults, but she didn't. She just walked away, holding her tears in tightly, because if she let them out, she might never stop.
Back at home, she helped her parents tidy the small apartment, did little chores quietly, and listened to Taro's laughter. Even though her own heart felt heavy, she reminded herself of something important: she could still care, still help, still smile.
Sometimes, she let herself imagine a life where she could just be a kid, where she didn't have to carry everything on her shoulders. But for now, she tucked that dream away and smiled once more. Always, she smiled again.ch1:Too Much, Too Fast