She won, but no one was there, no father to pat her back. No mother to embrace her. No friend to celebrate with. The trophy, she was proud of, but it could not fill the void of her past. It could not mend her past. She endured all of this pain and won, but it still does not mend the cracks of her fractured soul. She packed her violin and left the hall. The night air outside was cool, almost painful, brushing against her cheeks like the echo of all the moments she had endured in silence. The world still moved on around her, but nothing had shifted. The universe still did not pause to honor her triumph. It simply kept turning. Jiwon walked home, clutching her trophy as though it were a weight to bear, not as a prize to cherish. It glinted under the streetlight, mocking her. It would be propped up on a shelf, untouched, unnoticed, collecting dust like all the parts she had been forced to bury. There would be no one waiting at the door. With no embrace, no whispered “I’m proud of you.” Only a darkened house and the silence that she knew far too well. M aJ aukreo I am a twenty-year-old aspiring author, hoping to publish a book someday. I would like to thank my Creative Writing teacher Professor Nichols for giving me this opportunity to publish my writing in this magazine. Without her, I do not think I would have been able to submit what I love to write. Writing fiction has always been a place where I could take a break from the rigorous tasks of other academics. It has been a stress reliever for me to be able to express my creativity— I am grateful for that. I hope to improve even more and deepen my intellectual curiosity as I grow as a writer.
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