I wasn’t looking for anything. I just wanted to breathe.

School was loud again. Everyone had something to say—who was dating who, who got top scores, who wore fake shoes. I didn’t care. I was tired. Of pretending. Of smiling when my chest felt like it was carrying a whole house.

So I went to the rooftop. Quiet, windy, mine.

But someone was already there.

He was standing near the edge. Hands in his pockets, eyes staring down like he wasn’t scared of anything—not even falling.

And for one stupid second, I thought he was a ghost. That’s how still he looked.

Then I realized—he wasn’t.

And it hit me all at once.

He might jump.

“Hey!” I shouted, heart in my throat.

He didn’t turn.

I ran. My bag slammed into my back, my shoes slipping a little on the tiles.

“Stop!” I grabbed his wrist, hard. “Don’t!”

He flinched. Lost balance. We both fell backward—his arm under mine, my elbow smacking the ground. Pain shot through me.

But we were safe. Still on the rooftop.

He groaned. “What the hell—”

“What the hell you! Are you crazy?!”

He blinked at me like I was the weird one. “I wasn’t going to jump.”

“You were right at the edge!”

“I just wanted air.”

I stared at him, still gripping his wrist. “You scared me, you idiot.”

He finally sat up, brushing dust off his expensive-looking pants. I noticed it then—his shiny watch, his clean white shoes, the smell of something expensive on his jacket. He looked like the kind of guy who never had to worry about anything except running out of Wi-Fi.

He looked at me, curious. “Who even are you?”

“Gigi,” I muttered. “And you?”

“Gio.”

Of course his name was Gio. He looked like a Gio.

“Let go now?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

I realized I was still holding onto his wrist. I dropped it fast and stood, dusting myself off. “You should’ve said something. You can’t just stand there like that.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t think anyone would come up here.”

“Well, I did. Sorry to ruin your… whatever that was.”

He looked at me closely. “You always this dramatic?”

“Only when strangers try to give me a heart attack before lunch.”

That made him smirk. “Okay, fair.”

We stood there for a moment, awkward wind brushing past us.

“So what are you doing up here?” he asked, adjusting his sleeves.

“Escaping.”

He tilted his head. “From what?”

“Everything.”

He looked like he didn’t understand. So I added, “You ever go home from school and the first thing your mom tells you is to reheat the rice and do your brother’s homework before the water delivery guy comes? And you haven't even taken your shoes off yet?”

His face was blank.

“Didn’t think so,” I muttered.

“I don’t even have siblings,” he said. “Just drivers and tutors.”

Of course he did.

He tried again. “So… things are hard at home?”

I looked at him. His voice wasn’t mocking. Just curious. Soft.

“I don't think we're that close, yet. But uhh, it might be nice to get this off my chest."

“My parents work nonstop. We sell barbecue at night. My dad’s always coughing. My mom barely sleeps. I help out when I can, but I’m still in school, so I don’t even know if I’m really helping.”

He was quiet.

I sat on the ledge—not the edge, just near enough to feel the wind on my face.

“You don’t get it,” I said. “You’re probably used to being told that you’ll be successful. That you’ll inherit a business. I get told I have to succeed. That I’m the only hope. That if I don’t make it, what’s all this for?”

Gio stayed standing.

“Must be nice,” I added, “to feel like you’re allowed to take your time.”

His eyes softened. “It’s not as nice as you think.”

I gave him a look.

“I’m not saying I’ve got it worse,” he said quickly. “I just mean… being rich doesn’t mean everything’s perfect.”

I looked at him. “But it helps, doesn’t it?”

“…Yeah. I guess it does.”

We sat in silence again. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just full.

Then he spoke, softer this time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

We didn’t say anything else for a minute.

“Thanks,” he added. “For grabbing me.”

I shrugged. “You owe me snacks.”

He smiled.

“Maybe I’ll bring some tomorrow.”

“You better.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

I stood, brushing my skirt down. “Don’t come back up here alone.”

“You either.”

“Deal,” I said.

I turned to leave, then paused. “Hey… Gio?”

“Yeah?”

“You should talk to someone. About whatever you’re carrying.”

He gave a small nod. “You too.”

I didn’t answer. I just pushed open the rooftop door and headed back down.

And even though I didn’t know if I’d ever talk to him again… something felt different.

Not lighter.

But not as heavy.

Later that afternoon, when Gigi got home from school...

The first thing I heard when I got home wasn’t “welcome back” or “how was school?”

It was yelling.

Again.

The front gate creaked as I stepped inside, the sound of my school shoes scraping against the concrete barely audible over the voices echoing from the kitchen. My bag felt heavier than usual, like the weight wasn’t just from books, but everything else I’d been carrying all day.

I didn’t even bother to call out. I already knew what I was walking into.

“…You always say that! But where’s the money now, huh?”

That was Mom.

I heard Dad mumble something back — too low to catch — but it didn’t matter. I already knew how this fight would go. It was always about money. About bills. About Jian. About everything.

I stepped quietly toward the living room, hoping they wouldn’t notice me yet.

No luck.

“Gigi,” Mom called out, voice sharp. “You’re home. Good. Can you help Jian with his homework?”

I froze near the doorway.

Of course. No “hi.” No “did you eat?” Just straight to work. Again.

I looked toward the dining table and saw Jian slumped over his notebook, pencil spinning between his fingers. Eleven years old and acting like the world owed him peace and snacks. He barely glanced at me.

“Did you even try doing it yourself?” I asked him.

He shrugged, like it wasn’t his problem.

Something inside me snapped.

“I’m tired!” I said louder than I meant to. My voice cracked. “Can I just—can I just breathe for five seconds before you start giving me work?”

Mom turned to look at me, surprised.

“I stayed up helping at the stand last night,” I continued, chest rising and falling fast. “I washed dishes, I sliced meat, I barely slept. And now I come home, and you can’t even say ‘hi’ before telling me to do Jian’s homework?”

Mom’s expression hardened. “I’m just asking for help.”

“But it’s always me!” I said, tears burning at the edges of my eyes. “Why is it always me? He gets to sit around all day, and I have to do everything. How is he gonna learn anything if I keep doing it all for him?”

Silence.

Even Dad stopped coughing in the background.

I wiped my face quickly and stormed into my room, slamming the door shut.

I didn’t even lock it. I just lay on the bed, arms wrapped around my pillow, and cried.

Not the loud kind of crying. Just the tired, muffled kind. The kind that hurts more because you’re trying to stay quiet.

I wasn’t mad at Mom. Or Jian. Or even Dad.

I was just… exhausted.

Exhausted from always trying to be enough. From always pretending I could handle it.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow and whispered to myself, “I’m so tired.”

And for the first time in a while, I really meant it.

The house was quiet.

Thirty minutes passed.

Then came a gentle knock.

“Gigi,” her mom’s voice was soft, almost unsure. “Can I come in?”

Gigi didn’t answer, but the door creaked open anyway.

Her mom stepped in, her eyes puffy, her apron still on. She sat at the edge of the bed without saying anything at first.

“You’re right,” she said finally.

Gigi blinked, surprised.

“I’ve been hard on you,” her mom whispered. “Too hard. You’re only fourteen. You shouldn’t have to carry so much.”

Gigi sat up slowly. She didn’t speak. She just looked at her mom—really looked.

“I just want you to succeed,” her mom continued, voice cracking. “We all do. Because we see how smart you are. How capable.”

“But it’s too much,” Gigi said quietly.

“I know.” Her mom nodded. “I do. I just… I want a life for you that’s easier than mine. And sometimes I forget that you're already doing your best.”

They sat there for a long while, saying nothing. Just breathing. Gigi leaned her head on her mom’s shoulder, like she used to when she was younger.

“I’ll still help,” Gigi said. “I just… I need you to see me too. Not just what you hope I’ll become.”

Her mom kissed the top of her head. “I see you, Gigi. I promise.”

And for the first time in a long time, Gigi believed her.