Morning came again.
Not gently. Not kindly.
Just… again.
Catherina stood at the sink, her hands submerged in a basin of soapy water, watching the thin film ripple each time her fingers moved. The dishes clinked softly beneath the surface, their edges brushing against one another in dull, familiar sounds.
She had been standing there for a while.
Longer than necessary.
The kettle had already boiled. The floor had already been swept. Breakfast had been prepared and eaten. Her siblings had drifted in and out of the kitchen, leaving behind crumbs, laughter, and unfinished conversations.
Still, she remained.
Her fingers traced the surface of the water absently, watching how easily it shifted—how quickly it settled again, as though nothing had disturbed it at all.
"Catherina."
She didn't turn immediately.
"Yes, Ma."
"Are you done there, or are you planning to stand in that spot all day?"
"I'm done," she said, quickly rinsing the last plate.
Her mother clicked her tongue softly. "You like wasting time."
Catherina dried her hands on a cloth, nodding once. "Sorry."
The word came out lighter this time. Not because it meant less—
But because it meant nothing at all.
The walk to school felt shorter that morning.
Or maybe she just noticed it less.
Her steps followed the same path, her eyes fixed ahead, her mind… somewhere quieter than before. Not crowded with thoughts. Not heavy with questions.
Just still.
Too still.
Around her, the world moved as it always did, students calling out to each other, laughter breaking through the morning air, the occasional shout echoing down the street.
Catherina walked through it untouched.
Like sound passed through her, not to her.
The classroom was already half full when she arrived.
She slipped into her seat by the window, placing her bag neatly beside her desk. The air inside buzzed with energy, conversations layered over one another, chairs scraping, someone laughing too loudly at something that probably wasn't that funny.
Catherina opened her notebook.
Pen in hand.
Ready.
Always ready.
"Good morning," the teacher said as she entered.
"Good morning, ma," the class responded.
Catherina's voice blended into the chorus, indistinguishable from the rest.
The lesson began.
Numbers, words, explanations, everything flowed in a steady rhythm. Catherina followed easily, her pen moving without hesitation, her answers forming before questions were fully asked.
"Catherina."
She looked up.
"Yes, ma."
"Can you solve this?"
The board was already filled with the problem. She had worked it out halfway in her notebook without realizing.
"Yes, ma."
She stood, walking to the front of the class. The chalk felt dry between her fingers as she wrote, each step clear, precise, practiced.
When she finished, she stepped back.
The teacher nodded once. "Correct."
A pause.
Then, "Class, take note."
And just like that, the moment moved on.
Catherina returned to her seat.
No smiles. No lingering attention. No sense of anything gained.
Just… correct.
She stared at the word written in her notebook.
Correct.
It didn't feel like approval.
It felt like expectation.
Like something she was not allowed to fall below.
Later, during a group activity, the classroom shifted into clusters of movement and chatter.
"Let's just put her in charge," one of the boys in her group said, gesturing vaguely in her direction. "She'll do it well."
"Yeah, Catherina, you handle it," another added, already turning away to talk to someone else.
She nodded. "Okay."
No one asked if she wanted to.
No one waited for her to respond.
They had already moved on.
Catherina gathered the materials, organizing them neatly, her mind slipping into the familiar rhythm of doing what was needed. Around her, her group laughed, debated, drifted in and out of attention.
She worked.
Efficient. Quiet. Invisible.
When the teacher came around, she glanced at their work. "Good," she said. "Who did this?"
A brief silence.
Then someone shrugged. "All of us."
The teacher nodded and moved on.
Catherina didn't say anything.
Her hands rested lightly on the paper, fingers still.
For a moment, just a moment, something flickered inside her.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Something quieter.
Something that didn't fully form.
And then it was gone.
Break time arrived, and the room emptied in a rush of noise and movement.
Catherina stayed behind.
She opened her lunch slowly, the faint smell of food rising to meet her. Outside, the courtyard buzzed with life, voices rising and falling, footsteps echoing, laughter spilling into the open air.
She watched through the window.
A group of girls sat close together, sharing snacks, leaning into each other as they spoke. A boy ran past, nearly tripping, his friends shouting after him. Someone called out a name—loud, certain, expecting a response.
And they got one.
Catherina took a small bite of her food.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
"You're always here."
The voice pulled her back.
She looked up.
The same girl from the day before stood near her desk, arms loosely folded.
Catherina blinked once. "I like it here."
The girl glanced around the nearly empty classroom, then back at her. "Do you?"
There was no judgment in the question.
Just curiosity.
Catherina hesitated.
"I don't mind it," she said.
The girl tilted her head slightly. "That's not the same thing."
Catherina didn't respond.
For a moment, the silence between them felt different from the silence she was used to. Less heavy. Less… expected.
"What do you do after school?" the girl asked.
Catherina's fingers tightened slightly around her spoon. "I go home."
"That's it?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"You don't go out? Or talk to anyone? Or…" The girl trailed off, as if unsure how to finish the thought.
Catherina shook her head lightly. "No."
The girl studied her for a second longer, then shrugged. "I'd get bored."
Catherina gave a small nod.
"I don't," she said.
But even as the words left her mouth, something inside her shifted—just slightly.
Because she wasn't sure that was true.
The girl gave a small smile. "Alright then."
And just like that, she turned and left, pulled back into the noise outside.
Catherina watched her go.
Then slowly, she looked back at her food.
She wasn't hungry anymore.
The walk home felt longer.
Not because the distance had changed, but because something about the quiet inside her had.
It wasn't peaceful.
It was empty.
When she reached the house, the routine resumed as expected. Tasks were given. Instructions followed. Mistakes corrected.
She moved through it all without resistance.
Without thought.
Without feeling.
Later, when everything had settled again, she found herself back at the sink.
Water ran steadily from the tap, pooling around her hands as she rinsed the last of the dishes.
She didn't turn it off immediately.
Instead, she watched.
The way the water moved. The way it filled space without asking. The way it slipped around everything, taking shape and losing it just as easily.
Her fingers dipped beneath the surface, breaking it, reforming it, breaking it again.
No matter how many times she disturbed it…
It always settled.
As though nothing had happened.
Catherina swallowed.
A thought formed, quiet, unfamiliar.
"They are living…"
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"…and I am just… here."
The words didn't echo.
They didn't change anything.
They simply existed.
Like everything else.
After a moment, she reached forward and turned off the tap.
The sudden silence rang louder than the water had.
That night, she lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling again.
The same cracks.
The same shadows.
The same stillness.
But something had shifted.
Not outside.
Inside.
Her chest felt tight, not with emotion, but with the absence of it.
Like something that should have been there… wasn't.
Her eyes drifted shut briefly, then opened again.
And in the quiet, a thought slipped through, soft, almost unnoticeable.
"If I disappeared…"
She stopped.
The rest of the sentence didn't come.
Or maybe it did and she just wasn't ready to hear it yet.