"Not all abusers raise their voice.
Some just raise your doubt."
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It started with subtle things.
Side-eyes in the hallway. A post on Hana's Instagram story, a blurry screenshot of an old group photo with a vague caption underneath:
"Fake friends love to play the victim."
No names. No tags.
But Aira felt it like a knife under her skin.
At lunch, Mae waved her over to sit with her and a couple of friends from class. They talked about random things—bad exam results, comfort movies, playlists to cry to without shame.
It was warm.
Not loud. Not overwhelming.
Just… easy.
Aira smiled more than she expected.
But when she walked past the old table—the one she used to sit at every day—Hana caught her arm.
"Wow. You've really moved on, huh?"
Aira blinked. "I'm just sitting with people who make me feel okay."
Hana laughed. But it wasn't funny.
It was that cold, sharp kind of laugh that made you question if you were being dramatic.
"I guess we weren't good enough for you anymore?"
"No, it's not—" Aira swallowed. "It's not like that."
"Then what is it, Aira? You don't even talk to us anymore. Do you feel better than us now?"
She wanted to scream no.
She wanted to say I've just been hurting.
She wanted to say you hurt me and made me feel like I was too much every time I cried or spoke or existed.
But her mouth dried. Her throat tightened. Her mind went blank.
And Hana just shook her head.
"God, you're so sensitive."
That word again. Sensitive. Like it was a sin.
That night, Aira spiraled.
She lay in bed, scrolling through old photos and wondering when things started to rot. When she stopped being enough for them. When their inside jokes became weapons.
"Maybe I overreacted."
"Maybe I made it all up."
"Maybe I really am the problem."
She stared at the blinking cursor in her journal.
But this time, instead of writing down a question, she wrote a truth.
"People who make you doubt your pain are not your safe place."
She read it aloud to herself. Her voice cracked.
Then she wrote another.
"Hana is not my friend. She is someone who wants me to stay small so she can feel big."
"Friendship isn't supposed to make you feel like you're walking on a minefield.
If they only love you when you're quiet,
Then they don't love you.
They love your silence."
The words made her stomach twist. But they were real.
A few days later, she passed Hana again. This time, Hana bumped into her deliberately.
"Oh," Hana said sweetly. "Didn't see you there."
Aira didn't apologize.
She didn't smile.
She looked her straight in the eye.
And said, quietly, "Don't touch me again."
Hana's smile dropped.
Aira kept walking, heart pounding.
But in her chest, something old and aching started to burn away.
She didn't know if it was strength.
But she knew… it wasn't fear anymore.