I was just an ordinary girl in a world I never truly belonged to.
A world where everything revolved around grades, careers, and what others thought of you.
A world where existing was never enough—
You had to impress, perform, and pretend.
Life kept moving,
and I was just… being dragged along.
A silent guest in my own story.
No one really noticed me—
And maybe… I didn't want to be noticed anymore.
---
> My name is Lyra
I'll be turning twenty soon.
I study law—not because I love it, but because it was the expected path.
Everyone followed it… so I did too.
I wasn't ugly,
but no one ever called me beautiful.
I wasn't dumb,
but no one cared to listen to what I thought.
I existed in the in-between—
Not loud enough to be admired,
not broken enough to be saved.
---
But in the middle of that dull, colorless reality…
There was one thing that made me feel alive:
A story.
A manhwa.
I loved it so much that I stopped wishing for a better life—
And started wishing I could live inside that world instead.
Its name was "Flower of the Family."
---
Everyone adored the main heroine:
The sweet, orphaned girl adopted by a noble family,
who fell in love with the cold-hearted heir and melted his icy heart.
Her story was soft, romantic, full of hope.
But me
I loved the one no one else cared about:
Olivia.
---
🌸 Olivia
She was stunning.
Golden hair flowing to her waist, glowing under the light.
Eyes like frozen oceans—calm, quiet, unreadable.
She moved like a painting brought to life.
Her presence… perfect.
But her smile? Hollow.
She was the real daughter of the noble family.
But she was treated like a symbol—
a name, a duty, a mask.
She was engaged to a man who didn't love her.
Her family praised her adopted sister,
and compared Olivia to her every day…
until even she believed she wasn't enough.
---
And then Olivia died.
Quietly.
Without anyone knowing that her sister and fiancé had betrayed her.
They said her death was a "beautiful sacrifice for love."
That her story was "tragic" and "poetic."
But to me?
It was cruel.
Unfair.
Wrong.
---
My Death
That night, I was alone.
The world outside was loud…
but inside my chest, it was all silence.
I opened the drawer,
took out the bottle of pills,
and for once—
I didn't hesitate.
No goodbye letters.
No dramatic thoughts.
No one to call.
No one to wait for.
I was tired.
Tired of a mother who cared more about what people thought than how I felt.
Tired of classmates who mocked my silence, my face, my mind.
Tired of being invisible.
So I swallowed the pills, one after another,
and lay down on my bed.
Just one tear slid down my cheek.
And in that moment, I whispered to myself:
> "Maybe… in another life, I would resist