T he years, months and days. Yuna couldn't quite recall. They were simply the rise and setting of the sun to her. 

Yuna looked up at the teacher, her body presents yet the words being slowly blurred out until she couldn't make out the lesson. She went off daydreaming in her own little head as most of the times before.
She sat in the second row, the third desk to the left which presented a perfect place to mostly be ignored by the teachers.

Despite being the last year before college, the pressure seemed to be doubled. School restarted about a month ago yet the class picked up as if nothing was amiss.
Familiar faces intermingled with those of unknown students, Jimin and her turned out to have different classes. Yet lunches were always a time for the two to sit, talk, and eat which was okay; the bus rides home were enjoyable as well.

Being neighbors since childhood, Yuna naturally held Jimin close to her as he did similarly. She couldn't precisely pinpoint when she started liking him, but she wouldn't ever admit it.
The hope she carried with her since their middle school years, her dreams of writing her own novel were something she should have never admitted now either.

Spending time in the library after school, reading books were her escape from what she would have to come home to. Studying the worlds created by the great authors of both past and present continually taught and improved Yuna's ideas and stories.

It allowed her to be able to go home with Jimin who often stayed after for his own after-school activities, those bus rides tended to be the most comfortable Yuna would get before finally arriving home.

The feelings of home was similar to pouring cold water straight into her stomach, there existed little comfort for Yuna. Her fondest memories remained of her childhood, going home meant the slow disappearance of her little light and her smile.
To her, home was her make-shift prison, a second holding cell when she wasn't at school or the tutoring classes.

Unlocking the door, Yuna entered to the sight of the pasty yellow kitchen light spilling outwards and soaking a hazy yolky glow into the otherwise darkness of the house. Her silent steps to the kitchen revealed to her the slim figure of her mother sitting in the dining room with a bowl of potatoes half peeled and a smile resting on her lips.

"Oh, your home? Did you study well today? Go wash up and keep studying, I'll bring you your food to you. Okay?"

"Okay."

The response was simple, curt but it had a hollowness that once ached. Yet now, 'Okay' was so comforting that the loneliness that resounded from it had turned from a response to one of self-comfort, everything was truly going to really be 'okay'.
This was her schedule, it was her almost every day but to change it was nearly impossible.

Stretching, Yuna looked at the clock reading half past 11 and closed the practice booklet.
Getting up from her study table, she opened the curtains to the peaceful buildings bathed in the flow of the moon.

The quietness of the night filled her with a sense of calm, the thirty minutes before 12 were the precious breaths of a moment that belonged entirely to her, or so she felt. They were the moments of time where the world seemed to stand still for a quick second, just a second, to catch its breath and sigh its own loneliness to the similar souls who happened to listen. The time separating two times, the time connecting two days; that was the time Yuna would borrow to spend on her own creations of worlds and stories.

Her occasional dreams always varied but the shards she would wake-up holding often times were about her childhood, her hearts happy wishes, or possibly the rare fragments of a successful confession.
Other times, they were tear-stricken loneliness, her routine life, or a person she never knew yet always felt she did. 

This particular night, she dreamed of the happy, sad, and all in-between yet it was not a night which would allow her to awake with a fragment of one of these dreams. Rather it was a cold night, a night where she would as she slept feel the emptiness of the room and have no one who would wrap her cold curled body in another layer of warmth.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

music always sets the mood for me. click.