"Jay… it's okay… stop crying…"
Venelope's voice was gentle but firm. She held Jay close, her arms steady even as Jay trembled. It had already been a few minutes. Jay wasn't sobbing loudly anymore — but the tears continued silently, falling as if her body had forgotten how to stop.
Venelope kept hugging her, one hand softly rubbing Jay's back in small circles. Her other hand reached toward her backpack beside the flowerbed.
"Here," she said softly, pulling out a slightly melted bar of chocolate. "Have some."
At first, Jay didn't move — it seemed like she hadn't even heard her. But after a beat, she slowly pulled away, her face blotchy and her eyes red. She didn't speak. She just sat on the floor of the greenhouse, breathing unevenly, trying to gather herself.
Venelope sat beside her and unwrapped the chocolate, breaking off a piece and offering it wordlessly.
"I know it's silly," she said, giving a half-smile. "But chocolate always calms me down. It's like… therapy. With sugar."
Jay took the piece slowly, holding her stomach as she did. A faint wince passed across her face — the emotional strain was taking its toll physically now.
Venelope noticed. She didn't mention it.
Instead, she kept her voice calm and soft. "Jay… you don't have to say anything. But if you ever want to… I'm here. You can tell me anything. I can't promise I'll have solutions — but I can promise I'll listen. And I'm a great secret keeper. Just so you know."
Jay didn't reply, but her fingers twitched slightly, still clutching the bit of chocolate.
"Sometimes," Venelope added, "saying it out loud clears your head. Like… letting air into a room that's been locked for too long."
The silence hung gently between them. Not heavy. Just… real.
Eventually, Venelope checked the time on her phone. "Jay, it's getting late. We should go."
She stood and extended her hand. Jay hesitated for a moment before placing her hand in hers and rising to her feet. Her movements were slow but deliberate. Her eyes still glistened, but her face had softened.
She dusted off the dirt from her clothes and whispered, "Thanks, Venelope."
Venelope smiled warmly and gently patted her head. "Don't cry anymore, okay?"
Jay gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "I'll try."
Back home, everything was the same — painfully, exhaustingly the same.
Her mother sat in front of the television, eyes fixed on the screen with a half-smile. Her father, as always, was scrolling on his phone, thumb flicking up endlessly.
No one asked her how her day was.
Jay didn't say a word. She went straight to her room, dropped her bag on the floor, and collapsed onto her bed — not even bothering to change. Her eyes shut the moment her head hit the pillow.
The next morning, light spilled into her room through the uncovered window.
Jay opened her eyes and bolted upright.
"Shit—!"
She ran to the bathroom, panicked, brushing her teeth hastily — no time for her usual paste ritual today. Her face was splashed, her dress half-wrinkled but passable. She snatched her wristwatch and glanced at it.
7:35 a.m.
And then she stopped.
Her eyes narrowed. She looked again.
Sunday.
"Damn it!" she groaned, and slumped dramatically back onto her bed. Her arms flopped to her sides as she stared at the ceiling. "Ugh…"
She lay there for a while. Restless. Not exactly sleepy. Not exactly energetic.
Just… empty.
Eventually, dressed and still not quite sure what to do with herself, she stood up, grabbed her bag again, and decided — she'd go to the library.
As she reached the front door, her mother called out from the lounge, not looking away from the screen.
"Where are you going? It's Sunday, isn't it?"
"I'm going for some work," Jay replied curtly while putting on her shoes.
"Why are you going to the library? Don't you have all your books?"
"I do."
"Then?"
"For some extra knowledge," Jay answered flatly.
Her mother frowned. "You have internet, don't you?"
Jay didn't reply. She was finished with the laces and about to leave.
But then — a hand grabbed the back of her bag.
Jay whipped around. Her mother was holding her with that same casual sternness — as if this tug-of-war was part of her daily routine.
"For heaven's sake, Mama!" Jay snapped. "Let me live for a while! Let me breathe! How much do you want to hurt me?!"
And with that, she yanked her bag from her mother's grip and walked out, not looking back.her mother all stunned and shocked looked as Jay disappeared from her sight and maybe slipped from her hands as well…
The library greeted her with silence and a comforting scent — that familiar blend of old and new books, quiet pages being turned, ink dried long ago. It felt like entering a temple where knowledge was sacred and time slowed down.
Jay took her token from the librarian with a polite nod and began wandering through the aisles.
First the academic section. She skimmed past the science shelves, the botany books, some journals. Then she moved on to the history corner, glanced at old texts, moved past to the kids' section — oddly comforting in its brightness — and finally found herself in fiction.
She wasn't a fiction reader. Not really. All her life had been about performance, competition, staying ahead. Fiction felt… indulgent. Like a luxury for people who had time to stop and feel.
But today something drew her in. Her eyes lingered on a shelf with titles she'd never noticed before. She tilted her head and pulled one out at random.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
The cover was simple. A single tree in a cityscape. Something about it felt familiar.
She flipped to the first page. Then the second. She sat down. She was drawn to this so simple book from 1943, a semi-autobiography by Betty Smith.
She was about to start reading when suddenly her stomach growled louder than anything in the silent section, to the point that someone called out to her, "Here."