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The door clicked shut behind her. Paulina stood in the quiet hallway, listening to the sound of her heels tapping against the wood floor as she took them off, leaving them in a heap by the door. No one home. No one to greet her. No hugs, no hello.
She kicked off her shoes, her feet sighing with relief against the cool floor, and dropped her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door.
“Anyone here?” she called out, but the only answer was silence. No rush of footsteps, no busy murmur from the kitchen. Just the hum of the fridge and the distant whirr of the AC.
Her mom’s work shoes were missing from the rack, her dad’s briefcase was nowhere to be found. He’d probably gone to another dinner or meeting that would last until late. Mami was probably working late again too. She always was. Paulina rubbed the back of her neck, feeling the weight of the quiet pressing in.
She shuffled into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and stared at the contents for a moment before pulling out the leftover arroz con pollo. The microwave beeped, and she set the plate inside, hitting the button for one minute.
The microwave hummed, and the smell of the chicken and rice filled the room. It smelled like home, but only in the way that familiar food can—something comforting, but distant at the same time. She plopped down on one of the kitchen stools, elbows on the counter, spoon in hand, and stared out the window.
No one was there.
After finishing her meal in silence, Paulina took her empty plate and slid it into the sink. She didn’t bother to rinse it. She’d leave it for later, like always. She was used to cleaning up after herself.
Upstairs, the soft carpet met her bare feet as she moved toward her room, pulling her sweater off her shoulders. She didn’t look at the mirror; she didn’t want to see the fake smile that was still painted on her face from earlier.
Her room was just as quiet as the rest of the house, filled with the soft glow of fairy lights hanging above her bed and the mess of clothes scattered across the floor. But there, nestled between the pillows, was the heart-shaped one she’d kept hidden for years. She carefully unzipped it, pulling out the small notebook tucked inside. The pink pen lay in the corner, waiting. She always kept it there, just in case.
But tonight, she felt... something. Something deep in her chest that hadn’t quite settled. She sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the journal in her lap but not opening it. Instead, she just held it close, feeling the weight of it for a moment. The weight of the thoughts she was too afraid to speak out loud.
She looked at the pink pen. Sparkly, a little worn, but still her favorite. And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the need to be perfect.
She closed her eyes for a second, and then... the familiar heaviness of the night settled over her.
The house was still empty, but for once, she didn’t feel so alone.
I hate coming home to silence.
It’s like the walls are waiting to remind me I’m not important enough to come home to.
Mami says, “Estoy trabajando duro por ti, mija,” and I believe her, I do. But sometimes I wish she’d just be here. Just once. No emails, no late shifts, no half-distracted hugs.
And Papi? I don’t even know anymore. He used to pick me up from school, remember? Now it’s all “Te quiero, Paulinita. Be good, okay?” And then he’s gone again. Meetings. Dinners. Phone calls.
I feel like a doll on a shelf—nice to look at, easy to forget.
Bonnie saw past all that today.
Dios mío, I didn’t mean to say so much. But it just kept coming out. Like my mouth knew what my heart wanted to say before I could stop it. And she didn’t laugh. She didn’t roll her eyes. She just... listened.
She made me feel real. Like I wasn’t some sparkly fake version of myself.
It scared me. But it also felt like... finally breathing after holding it in all day.
Why is that so rare?
I always think I have to be la más bonita, the most fun, the girl everyone wants to sit next to. But I think maybe what I really want is someone to sit next to me when I’m not trying so hard. When I’m just Paulina.
Not the girl with perfect eyeliner.
Not the girl with 100k followers.
Just... me.
And tonight, I think I was. For the first time in a long time.
Gracias, Bonnie. You don’t even know what you gave me today.