DISEASE

"Some reflections aren't made of glass—but of everything you've survived."

Mun stared at herself in the mirror. Her face hadn't changed much over the years, but her eyes had. They no longer held dreams. They held damage.

She touched her cheek gently, remembering all the times her mother's hand had landed there. Remembering nights she spent nursing bruises not just on her body, but on her soul.

"Why do I even exist?" she whispered. The mirror had no answer.

Outside, life continued. The neighbors' children laughed. School buses drove by. Facebook was filled with admission news, photos of campus tours and proud parents.

She closed her eyes. For a moment, she imagined an alternate life. One where her parents hugged her, said they were proud. One where she had a desk with fairy lights, a part-time job, and a best friend who waited for her at the cafeteria.

Then she opened her eyes.

And reality felt colder than ever.

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