IN ANOTHER LIFE

Do you ever wonder how it feels to disappear?

Not the kind of vanishing act where people search for you, calling your name, hoping you'll come back, but the quieter kind, where no one even notices you're gone. I often wonder about that, scribbling the thought in the margins of my diary as if by writing it, I can make the words less real. My name is Deyanira, but no one calls me that. Not really. The world shortened me to "Nira" long ago, just as it shortened everything else about me. 

I sat on the edge of my bed, the dim light of my desk lamp casting long shadows across the room. The walls, bare save for peeling paint and a single faded poster, seemed to press inward, crowding me. I stared at the open page of my diary, pen poised over the paper. The words refused to come. 

This wasn't unusual. 

There were so many things I wanted to say but never could. I wrote them down instead, in letters no one would ever read. Words meant for someone who would never know they existed. 

Mihai.

Even his name felt like a secret I wasn't allowed to keep. 

I let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the creaky frame of my bed. The house was quiet, unnervingly so. Mom must've passed out on the couch again. The sharp smell of cigarettes and cheap vodka wafted up from downstairs, mingling with the faint mildew scent of the house itself. Dad? Probably gone. He always was. If he wasn't working, he was at the bar. If he wasn't at the bar, he was God-knows-where. 

I still remember the last time he spoke to me. 

A chill crept into my bones as I pulled the threadbare blanket tighter around my shoulders. Loneliness had a way of seeping into everything, even the air. I picked up my pen again, forcing myself to write. 

*"Dear Diary,"* 

*"He smiled at me today. Not because he saw me-he never sees me-but because he's like that. Kind. Warm. Beautiful. Mihai could smile at a brick wall, and it would feel like the sun shining after weeks of rain."* 

I paused, chewing on the end of my pen. My chest ached-not from my thoughts but from the familiar tightness I'd started feeling lately. A cough bubbled in my throat, and I stifled it with my fist. The sound echoed in the silence, harsh and raw. 

When I pulled my hand away, a tiny white petal clung to my palm, its edges soft and delicate, like it didn't belong in this world at all. 

For a moment, I just stared at it. 

Then I laughed. A bitter, hollow sound that made the room feel colder than it already was. "Of course," I murmured to no one. "Of course, this is happening to me." 

The petal trembled in the faint draft from the cracked window. I placed it carefully on my nightstand, next to the stack of unfinished sketches and old notebooks. It was stupid, but I didn't want to throw it away. It felt too much like throwing away a part of myself. 

I closed my diary and pushed it aside. There were no words left tonight, only the echo of a cough and the phantom of a smile that wasn't even mine to keep. 

---

The next morning was the same as every other. 

I slipped out of the house before my parents stirred, pulling on my hoodie and slinging my bag over my shoulder. The air outside was crisp, the kind of cold that bit at your skin and left your breath hanging in the air. I liked it. It made me feel alive in a way I rarely did. 

The walk to school was uneventful. The streets were empty, save for a few cars and the occasional jogger. By the time I reached the building, the hallways were already buzzing with life. Groups of friends laughed and chatted, their voices blending into a cacophony of sound. 

I kept my head down, slipping through the crowd like a ghost. 

No one noticed me. 

No one ever did. 

Except him. 

"Mornin', Nira."