Modern World Today
The apartment lobby smelled clean and faintly floral, with deep blue walls and gold-accented details that gave the space a quiet, expensive elegance.
Ari stepped inside, nerves twisting in her stomach. She walked quickly to the elevator and pressed the button, trying to steady her breathing as she waited.
Was the elevator taking longer than usual, or was time just dragging itself today?
Ari gave herself a quick once-over in the elevator mirror.
Well, I don't look too terrible, she thought, trying to stay calm as she gently put down the expansive fruit basket she'd bought for this visit.
Her reflection had tired eyes, thin smile, hair that had defied every attempt to be tame this morning.
She fussed with her hair again but gave up quickly. No amount of styling could hide the heavy circles under her eyes. Her plain outfit wasn't helping either.
Maybe I should've gone home to change first... But thinking back to her wardrobe, she knew it was hopeless. Everything she owned was plain. Except for the two outfits she'd sewn herself, she thought—but quickly shook her head, as if to dislodge the memory.
Her mother didn't like it when Ari made things. She had learned that the hard way.
When she was nine, she made handmade cards for Mother's Day. Her brothers had forgotten, but Ari had remembered. She'd spent the whole week planning it. She used every crayon in her little box—scribbling uneven hearts, writing "I love you, Mommy" in her wobbly handwriting, even gluing glitter stars along the edges because she thought it would make her mother smile. Her fingers were stained with markers for days.
But her mother hadn't even looked at it. She'd set the card aside without a word.
That was the first time Ari realized love might be something she had to earn. That maybe being good wasn't enough. Maybe she had to be exceptional.
And those two outfits weren't exceptional. But at least they weren't plain, a small voice in her mind whispered. Still, plain was all she could afford—and even that felt like too much sometimes.
The elevator dinged. Her stomach twisted. She took a deep breath of courage. Another for strength. Then one more—to steady the nervous flutter in her chest.
She picked up the fruit basket and let her heart fill with dreams. After all, she'd come all this way to celebrate. And she hadn't come unprepared.
Her gaze dropped to the basket, and a small flicker of confidence sparked within her. This wasn't just any fruit basket—not the generic kind her mother bought for her brothers. No, this one was special. Pomegranates and purple grapes sat at its center, artfully arranged. Her mother's favorite fruits.
She'd chosen them on purpose. She'd gotten it right this time. This was perfect.
Maybe Mom would smile at her today. Maybe she'd reach out, pat her on the head, and say she did a great job—that she was proud to be her mom. Then she'd pull her into a warm hug, just like Ari had seen one of her classmates' mothers do at teacher-student-parent night. That moment had clung to her ever since, a scene she'd replayed a hundred times in her mind, wondering what it would be like to be held like that.
Her mother had been too busy to come that night.
As she stepped into the hallway, her shoes made soft taps against the polished marble floors. The hallway was lined with sleek decor, glossy paintings, and a fresh floral scent - an expensive one. She straightened her shoulders and knocked once before letting herself in.
"Mom, I'm here!" Ari called out, stepping inside the apartment.
She quickly took off her shoes and made her way to the living room. Her mother was on the sofa, scrolling on her phone, legs elegantly crossed. The faint scent of lavender and cinnamon drifted through the room—cozy, but distant.
Ari paused for a breath, taking her in. Her mother was beautiful, effortlessly so. Ebony skin smooth and glowing under the ambient lighting, her features regal, framed by glossy black curls that had been styled to perfection. It was like looking at a future version of herself that had never been touched by exhaustion or longing. People often said Ari looked just like her - but in moments like this, she felt like a shadow of that beauty, not its reflection.
"I got the scholarship," she announced brightly, her voice trembling with hope.
She waited.
Nothing. Not even a glance. Her mother's fingers kept scrolling, eyes locked on the glowing screen like Ari hadn't spoken at all.
Letting it slide, Ari didn't give up. She held the fruit basket up, a hopeful trembling smile on her lips that begged for connection.
"I bought this to celebrate the bonus I got from work today." She forced cheer into her voice, trying to sound light and proud, like she'd heard coworkers do when sharing good news. Her arms ached slightly from holding the heavy basket, but she held it steady, like a child presenting a handmade gift.
That should make her happy… right?
Why does it feel colder in here all of a sudden? Ari wondered, the shift in atmosphere hitting her like a draft through a broken window. Her fingers tightened around the basket handle, heart sinking with the realization that something had already gone wrong.
Ari shifted her weight, the silence stretching taut around her. She held the fruit basket a little tighter, waiting - hoping - for even the smallest nod of approval. But the chill in the room wasn't coming from the air conditioner. Not anymore. It sank deeper, settling in her bones.
Still, maybe if she kept talking, she could salvage this.
"My coworker recommended this store," she began, forcing a small smile. "She said the fruit is fresh and del—"
"What are you so proud of?" her mother snapped.
The words landed like a slap. Sharp. Icy. The kind of tone that didn't leave bruises but still left something broken.
Ari flinched before she could stop herself. The air seemed to drop ten degrees.
Her mother still hadn't looked up from her phone. The only acknowledgment of Ari's presence was the faint crease of annoyance between her brows.
"Are there even kids not getting scholarships these days?" she continued, voice thick with disdain. "The girl next door already got one, plus a company bonus."
Ari's chest tightened. She fought the shiver crawling up her spine.
Even without the words, Ari heard it loud and clear: Why can't you do BETTER?
Finally, her mother looked up. Only to frown deeper.
"You didn't buy this fruit from the XX Department Store? Your brothers only eat fruit from there. Don't you even know that?"
Ari's hands stiffened around the basket. Her gaze dropped, shame prickling like static under her skin. Of course. Of course she'd gotten it wrong.
She should have known better. Mother always prioritized her sons—what they liked, what they needed, what made them smile. Why would this be any different?
Why couldn't she have figured out something so simple?
"I'm sorry," she murmured, the words barely more than breath, swallowed up by the quiet chill of the room.
Just then, the front door opened.
"Mom, we're here!" Ari's second brother called out.
The change in her mother was instant. Like flipping a switch. The frost melted. A warm spring breeze rushed in to take its place.
Ari stood frozen, watching as her mother smiled—the same smile she'd been silently begging for just moments ago.
Smiling.
But never for Ari.
The warmth Ari had chased her whole life filled this room, but it had never been hers. It danced just out of reach, always saved for someone else.
Why not for me?
She pressed her lips together, but the ache bloomed anyway.
Why did it still hurt?
Her mother stood and grabbed her favorite designer handbag - the one she only used on special occasions. That's when Ari noticed the outfit. Elegant. Unusually dressed up.
Then she walked right past Ari. As if she wasn't even there.
Trailing behind, Ari watched her mother's face light up as she met her two sons in the entryway.
"Aww, my boys are so handsome!" she giggled.
Two handsome young men stood there - Ari's older brothers. She swallowed hard and followed, still invisible.
"I've been waiting for you! Let's go, the taxi should be here any minute."
"Where are you going?" Ari asked quietly.
"To Grandma's," her mother answered cheerfully, without pausing or looking back. "We're celebrating your brothers - they passed the exams at that prestigious university! We're all so proud—"
She stopped mid-sentence, as if suddenly remembering who she was talking to.
Then her voice turned cold again. "You don't need to know."
"And since you have nothing else to say, you should leave."
Her tone wasn't sharp, but cool and polite. Like a hostess trying to usher out an overstaying guest. A clear dismissal.
Her second brother glanced at her briefly. It was a casual glance. No pity. Why would there be? This was her normal.
"Oh, and don't forget to take that fruit basket with you," her mother added, just before stepping out.
To Ari, it sounded like a superior ordering a subordinate to take out the trash.
Then the door closed.
And she was alone.
The bus ride home was quiet. Ari stared out the window as the city lights streamed past. Everything outside looked warm. Families out to dinner, kids laughing on sidewalks, lights glowing behind apartment windows. A violinist played a soulful melody near a train station, and for a moment, Ari imagined she was in a different story.
One where someone might've noticed she was hurting.
By the time she arrived near her apartment, the sky had darkened to indigo, stars peeking through the smoggy skyline.
Her apartment was a small one-bedroom unit. Quiet. Dim. But at least here, the silence didn't sting.
With a tired sigh, she placed the untouched fruit basket into the empty fridge, then peeled off her jacket. She went to draw a bath—hot water steaming, fogging up the small mirror above the sink.
Ari was 23. She was a college student. She worked every job she could that wouldn't interfere with her studies. Sometimes she took the late shift cleaning offices. Sometimes she did translation work online. It was exhausting, but it kept her afloat.
After a bath, feeling just a little more human, she collapsed on top of her bed. The mattress squeaked faintly under her weight. Her phone buzzed with a notification.
It was from her favorite webnovel.
"I Was Not Adopted, I Found My Family."
Ari smiled. Her only true joy these days. The story is updated every night.
"Because you're my most precious daughter in the world."
"Dad…"
The heroine had a father, a family, and friends. She was loved. Cherished. The kind of life Ari could only dream about.
Reading this felt like dipping her soul into a warm healing spring. Especially after a day like today.
She scrolled down, soaking in every line.
"You don't need to prove anything to me. I love you, simply because you're you."
Tears welled unexpectedly.
Would someone ever say that to me? Would I ever be seen as someone worthy enough to protect, just because I exist?
Why do they hate me so much?
Her eyes grew heavy. A yawn escaped her.
Wouldn't it be nice… to live in a world where everyone loved me?
[A world... where you are loved?]
"Yes," she whispered, already slipping into sleep.
Too far gone to wonder where that voice had come from.