Hope wanted to study law.
Not because of prestige. Not for power. But because, deep down, she believed that the world needed rules — and that maybe, if she understood those rules, life would finally make sense. That maybe there was justice somewhere, and if she worked hard enough, she could find it.
She dreamed of the city: tall buildings, busy streets, people who didn’t know her past — who might see her for what she could be, not what she had been. She saw herself walking into lecture halls with a backpack full of books and a heart full of determination. She was ready.
But her family wasn’t.
Her mother begged her to stay close. Her father scoffed at the idea of "big city nonsense." They didn’t understand her dream — and worse, they didn’t care to. Her place, they said, was near home, in a small university, studying something “sensible.” Something that wouldn’t require them to change their routines. Something safe.
Hope obeyed. Not because she agreed — but because she was tired of fighting. Tired of feeling like a burden. She applied to a minor university in a nearby town, and chose a field she knew had no future. It didn’t matter. At least she was still learning.
She moved into a small, rented room with peeling paint and cold water in the winter. She brought only books, notebooks, and the clothes that still fit her new, smaller frame. She ate little, studied much, and spoke rarely.
Loneliness became her closest companion.
Other students partied, made friends, fell in love. Hope stayed invisible. She tried to connect, but her kindness was mistaken for weakness. Her intelligence made others uncomfortable. And her silence, they assumed, meant she had nothing to say.
She became the one people only talked to when they needed notes. Or answers. Or help with a project the night before the deadline. She gave it all. And in return, they gave her nothing.
Still, she excelled. Top of her class, again. She moved on to a master’s program, because there was nothing else to do. She applied for jobs during her studies — dozens, then hundreds — and heard nothing back. Not even a rejection. Just silence.
She started to wonder if she even existed.
By now, food was just fuel. Hunger was normal. Sleep was a luxury. The mirror showed a thinner woman with sharper features — almost beautiful now — but her eyes were hollow, like something had moved out of her a long time ago.
She no longer believed education would save her.
But quitting meant becoming nothing.
And being nothing scared her more than death.
So she kept going.
Degree after degree.
Day after day.
Alone.