Imagine making a story about a girl who is first introduced to be such a gentle soul. Her room is in a constant state of chaos, her thoughts birdlike in the sense that it flits everywhere. Her laugh is rare, but her smiles are free. She fears greeting strangers “good morning” or “hello”. An introvert.

Imagine creating a story not really centered on her. Because that kind of girl is too cliché. The common underdog who’s going to get whatever she’s struggling for. But plot twist. She isn’t struggling for anything. She’s taking a course in college, living as what is considered normal. No drugs, no alcohol, no boyfriends.

She is a side character. Behind the protagonist who’s lowkey kickass and high key lovable.

Her life is calm. Her life is protected. The protagonist makes it so. Because the girl is special.

And then one day she takes a look at her room. A really long, really good look. And oh my goodness, how messy! She sets up her phone, and hits record. She fixes the bed first, where she’s spent countless nights fucking herself in, crying herself to sleep in, staring at the ceiling until the sun rises. She plumps the pillows, takes out every stray object lodged under the mattress.

She moves on to the cabinets. The desk. The shelves. Dusts them off. Because she’s spent more time on the bed than actually using them. She cleans the aircon filter. The electric fan. The washroom. Scrubs off the molds. The dirt. She’s kept herself clean, but hasn’t cleaned in a long time.

She sweeps the floor. Every trace of sin and imperfection. Every scrap of undesirable grit and gross. Mops it. Opens the curtains and stares at the rising sun. At the bluing sky. Takes a deep breath of the morning air that faintly smelled like the seaside a mile away. Stared at the inside of her clean room. Clean for once in her life. The food was stocked. The sinks brushed. The roaches kept at bay. It smelled like dawn and hope and sanity.

She took a deep breath. Looked at her phone recording all this. Fixed its position. Then stared at the slowly waking city. Cars rushing one by one at first. The smattering of early rising people. She smiles. The world looked so beautiful from thirty stories up.

Beautiful.

She sits by the ledge of her window, sated by the cleanliness and the hope and the first rays of golden sun peaking behind her building. She sits. Then moments later, she tips forward. Her phone records.