I had just arrived home once I finished up with my after-school extra rehearsals for sports day.
There was no "I'm home" or "Did you have a good day at school today?" as I slipped off my shoes and navigated through the living room.
I simply proceeded up the stairs without a care in the world, while Mom remained still on the couch.
The only sound that filled the living room was the quiet *thuck* of Mom's thumbnail as she scrolled on her phone.
My Older Brother informed me beforehand that he wouldn't be home for another three hours, and Dad wouldn't be home until 6 p.m., which meant that the only two people in this house... were myself and my Mom.
Whatever. There's no use in crying about it. I'm not a kid anymore.
Once I arrived in my room, the first thing I did was close the door, isolating myself from the outside world. Then, I changed into my home clothes.
And by that, I meant I selected one of many oversized shirts that I had stolen from my Brother—which I had hidden in the depths of my closet—and put them on.
Lately, whenever he came home late, I took the liberty to scavenge his closet and "borrow" clothes that I deemed acceptable.
Most of them are t-shirts like these, since that's all I could get away with. If I stole a sweater or something, he'd notice instantly.
Tsk. Can't even give one good thing to his sister. How unconsiderate! I'd have to take it up with him the next time I saw him.
I would've done it today, too. But due to my fight with Mom, I felt more inclined to stay in my room for the time being.
After I finished changing, I made my way toward the curtains and opened them. I was scared of the dark, after all.
The light of the bright, orangey afternoon sun filled my room instantly, creating a kind of cozy atmosphere. Like sitting around a campfire—not that I'd know. I've never been to one of those before.
Once I had my satisfaction of taking in the view, I moved on to my desk. A pile of clothes rested on my chair, preventing me from actually sitting down. I didn't feel like it, but if I didn't deal with it now, I wouldn't be able to start studying for my test.
So, I picked up the pile—and threw it on the ground in the corner of my room.
With everything out of the way, I took my textbooks out of my bag and began to study.
I worked through question after question. Some I got right. Some I had to use the solution to understand. And others—I'd ask my Brother when he got home.
Time seemed to fly as I scribbled countless equations in my notebook, my room becoming nothing but a void of the endless clicking of my calculator.
But that void was suddenly penetrated by a sharp, muffled clatter. The clatter blended with the clicking that kept me zoned in, breaking my focus.
Ugh... This sucks.
At first, I thought it was just people outside messing around. Where I lived, there were plenty of kids playing outside at all times of the day, after all.
But as the sounds kept repeating, I noticed that it was coming from inside the house—from downstairs.
Well, whatever. Not my problem.
Putting my earbuds on, I returned to my studies. I usually didn't study with music since I struggled to focus with it on, but it was better than nothing.
Even so, it was almost as if I could hear the ghosts of the clatter through my earbuds—as if it had never left.
It was clear that no matter what I did, my concentration had already been broken.
With no other options left, I put my pencil down, closed my eyes, leaned back into my chair, and let out a loud sigh.
Just what the hell is Mom doing?!
Usually, Mom was never this loud when she cooked. Mom was a spiteful person, and she was the type to talk badly about you while you were there to get a reaction out of you. Except, this time, she wasn't talking.
It was just… clatter. Just like any other.
My leg twitched, but my body remained glued to the chair.
"…You know you shouldn't do it."
I closed my eyes tighter, focusing on the voice in my head.
Yes, I know. I should just stay in my room.
"So, why are you even thinking about it?"
It's because…
My mind blanked as I struggled to come up with a reason. There was no "reason" at all. I just… felt like it. That's all there was to it.
No, that wasn't completely true. If there was one reason, it'd be…
It's because I don't want to be like Mom.
I let out a deep sigh and opened my eyes. The setting sun that leaked through my windows burned my retinas instantly. A warm welcome to reality.
Well, I can't just avoid her forever.
I pushed myself from my seat and quietly opened the door, exiting my room in silence. As I walked along the hallway, my Brother's words from this morning rang in my ears once more.
"Just forget about it."
My steps slowed down—but didn't come to a stop.
Just forget about it… huh?
I couldn't help but chuckle at the idea.
Yeah—no can do.
After all...
I'm not like you, either.
When I focused on the outside world again, I found myself in the living room. It didn't take me long to find her. From what I could see from this distance, Mom was hunched over the dining table, her hands moving with frantic, desperate energy.
What is she doing?
I took a few careful steps closer until I could finally see. She was making spring rolls—almost a hundred of them.
She hastily rolled the spring rolls, prepared the meat and vegetables, and placed the finished product in a basket. Once the basket was full, she placed it down on the kitchen counter—ready to be fried—creating the dull clattering sound.
And she did this by herself.
I couldn't help but scoff.
Just how prideful is this woman?!
Usually, whenever our family made spring rolls, we got everybody to help. Or at least, Dad, Mom, and I worked together. Hoshino just stayed in his room recently.
But there she was, rolling them up in a feverish, solitary rush. Doing the job of three people all on her own.
Geez, it wouldn't kill you to ask for some help, you know...
While she was busy frying the spring rolls, I sat down at the dinner table without asking for permission and began to roll the spring rolls on my own.
The sizzle of the frying pan in the kitchen stopped abruptly. And with it, came a subtle, radiating heat on the back of my neck—Mom's gaze—but I didn't stop. I kept my eyes on the rice paper and filling.
Then, as if time resumed, the sizzle resumed, accompanied by a voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the oil.
"Thank you."
You don't need to thank me. I'm doing this for myself, not you.
We continued doing our own parts without exchanging a single word. I rolled, she fried. Whenever the basket got full, I carried it over to the kitchen counter, set it down, and returned to the dinner table for the next batch.
Eventually, the front door opened. I didn't even need to look to know who it was.
Dad had just arrived home. He quietly set his bag down before scanning the room, noticing the peculiar atmosphere. His eyes first went to Mom, who was hidden within the clouds of steam, then to me, alone at the dinner table.
His eyes widened—then, a faint trace of his obnoxious, childish smile slowly emerged.
"Well, would you look at that…" he muttered.
Without changing out of his work attire, he joined me at the dinner table and helped me roll the spring rolls. We didn't need to communicate who was going to do what—we already knew.
I was tasked with peeling the spring roll wrappers from each other and placing them on a plate. Dad was tasked with stuffing them, wrapping them, and delivering them to Mom for her to fry.
The tension didn't vanish—it was still there, looming in the corners of the room—but it was lighter. Just like always.