#kittyparfaitwrites

I learned very early how to disappear.

It started at home, between the walls that echoed with my sisters’ achievements and my parents’ quiet expectations. It continued at school, where people learned that if they ignored me long enough, I’d shrink on my own. By the time I entered university, I had perfected the art of taking up as little space as possible. That’s why I was sitting alone on the steps outside the arts building on the first day, sketchbook on my lap, head down, pretending the world wasn’t terrifying. I didn’t notice Sylus until his shadow fell across the page. “You draw like you’re afraid to make noise,” he said.I flinched so hard my pencil snapped. “I….sorry,” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean to be in the way” He frowned. “You weren’t” I looked up then. He was breathtaking in the careless way people born into comfort often are. Calm. Untouched. The kind of person who had never been told to be grateful for scraps. “I’m Sylus,” he said. “Y/N,” I replied, already bracing myself for disappointment. At first, I thought he was being kind out of pity.

He walked me back to my dorm even when I insisted I didn’t need it. He asked about my art and hobbies like it mattered. He listened, really listened. When I talked, even when my words tangled together from anxiety. “Why do you always apologize?” he asked one evening as rain poured down, trapping us under an awning. “I don’t,” I lied, tilting his head. “You just did,” I laughed nervously. “It’s a habit” “From what?” I shrugged, “I don’t even know myself.”

Something flickered across his face. Guilt, maybe. I wouldn’t know.

On nights when my thoughts were too loud, I went to his dorm. He played vinyl records, old ones that crackled and skipped, and I sat on the floor drawing while he pretended not to watch me. One night, he reached out and touched my wrist, “Dance with me,” he asked, “I don’t dance” “That’s okay,” he replied. “I won’t let you fall.”

I believed him.

We swayed awkwardly, my forehead pressed to his chest. His heartbeat was steady. Safe. For the first time in my life, I felt chosen. I told him about the bullying when my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “They used to say my art was useless,” I whispered, staring at the ceiling. “That I was too sensitive, quiet. I have so much anger in me, Sylus.” But he said nothing before turning to face me, “I wouldn’t leave you.” That was the first lie he ever told me.

The night we kissed, it was slow and trembling. His hands were warm, careful, as if he were afraid I’d break. When he whispered my name, it felt like a promise. “You’re precious,” he murmured. “Do you know that?” I closed my eyes. “Please don’t say things you don’t mean.” “I mean every word.”

I wanted to believe him more than I wanted to breathe.

The festival came in early spring. I wore a pastel yellow kimono with pink accents. When Sylus saw me, he went still. “You look…” He swallowed. “You look unreal” Fireworks exploded above us, and for once, I wasn’t thinking about how temporary happiness felt. I was just there with him. Content.

“I’m glad you found me,” I said softly, his jaw tightened. “Me too.”

He didn’t tell me then, but I found out three days later.

Caleb’s voice drifted through the open door, “so did you ever finish the bet?” The word bet sank into my chest like a blade. “what bet?” Sylus snapped, “The one where you dated her as a joke,” Caleb laughed “You weren’t supposed to actually—”

I didn’t hear the rest, my body went numb, he was playing me this whole time.

When Sylus found me later, I was sitting on my bed, staring at nothing, “You heard,” he said, I nodded. “Was it all fake?” “No,” he said immediately. “It stopped being fake. I love you y/n” I laughed softly. “You loved me after lying to me”

“I was going to tell you.”

“You didn’t,” I said, “You waited too long.”

The weight I’d carried my entire life collapsed in on itself. The debt my family never spoke about. The years of being told to endure quietly. The way love always felt conditional.

“I wasn’t meant to be chosen,” I whispered. “I was meant to survive.”

Sylus reached for me. I stepped back.

“I can’t carry this anymore.”

It rained the night I left, I remember thinking how peaceful it sounded.

Sylus came too late.

I felt his arms around me, his voice breaking as he called my name. I wanted to answer. I wanted to tell him it wasn’t all his fault. But I was so tired, so unbearably tired.

When he held me, I was already gone. I had been too pure for a world that mistook kindness for weakness. Too gentle for love that began as a game. Too fragile for promises that came late.