Chapter 4

The hallway was packed with students heading to the cafeteria, laughing in small groups.

The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow on the floor.

It had been so long since I stepped out of the classroom at this hour.

Before, every lunchtime, I would sit alone in the empty classroom, waiting for everyone to leave before going daily to eat that box of boiled vegetables in Mom's car.

When I returned, the classroom would still be empty, so I would sleep on my desk.

When I woke up, the corner of my mouth was often wet—I couldn't tell if it was drool or tears.

The cafeteria was packed, with long lines everywhere.

I took my tray and found a quiet corner to sit down. Mia sat opposite me, her plate piled high.

"Why are you eating so little?" She stared at the tiny portion of food on my tray. "Eat more! Look how thin you've gotten."

I didn't say anything, just picked up a piece of steak.

The moment the meat touched my tongue, my eyes welled with tears.

The rich, savory sauce dissolved, the aroma of the beef filling my mouth. That long-lost, vivid, warm taste was like a key, unlocking a place that had been sealed for too long.

Tears fell without warning, splashing onto my rice, creating a tiny wet circle.

"Chloe?" Mia panicked. "What's wrong? Is it bad?"

"No," I shook my head, blinking hard to force the tears back. "It's too good. It's so good I want to cry."

Mia looked at me, a flash of pity in her eyes.

She didn't press for details. She just scooped half of her mac and cheese onto my plate and softly said, "Eat up."

I didn't reject it.

I hadn't felt this in so long.

The feeling of being full.

Or rather, the feeling of being comforted by food.

It felt so good.

So good that it terrified me.

When the dismissal bell rang, I packed my bag. My hand brushed against the side pocket and felt the slice of whole wheat bread.

I pulled it out and shoved it deep inside my backpack.

Walking out of the school gates, my steps slowed down.

The convenience store across the street was brightly lit, its glass cases filled with snacks.

Chips, cookies, chocolates, lollipops.

My eyes locked onto a box of chocolates.

Golden wrappers, small squares, neatly lined up in a transparent box.

I stood in front of the store for what felt like an eternity.

Finally, I walked in.

"How much for this?"

"Eight dollars."

I pulled out my wallet. There was only a ten-dollar bill inside, which Mom had given me for breakfast last week.

I bought the chocolate.

The clerk handed me two dollars in change. I gripped the coins in my hand, stuffing the chocolate box into my jacket pocket.

My heart raced as I walked out.

I didn't even know why I was so nervous.

It was just chocolate.

Eight dollars, a small box, maybe ten pieces inside.

I could have one. Just one.

I could hide the rest and eat them slowly—one a day, or one every two days.

I squeezed the box in my pocket, the plastic wrapper making a faint rustling sound.

I kept my head down, walking toward the gate. But just as I reached the exit, a familiar figure appeared.

My steps faltered. Instinctively, I wanted to turn around and hide the chocolate in my backpack.

But it was too late.

"Chloe."