The moment he stepped inside, he knew—there would be little talk today.
In this house, silence was more familiar than words.
His mother was stirring something on the stove.
His father's voice could not be heard.
Everything is fine—
this pretense was the most exhausting part.
He said nothing.
No one asked anything either.
The most painful thing about this silence was—
no one was blaming him.
If there were blame, at least there could be anger.
But this quiet…
it seemed to say—
they were tired,
too tired even to complain.
He went into his room and gently closed the door.
The room was small, but the weight was heavy.
He knows his family doesn't expect miracles from him.
They only want—
for him to be able to make a place for himself.
And that desire,
today, feels like the greatest pressure of all.