You're Making Me Crazy, Professor [COMPLETED]

Third Person POV

Cynthia sat curled up in the farthest corner of her room, her small body trembling with every broken sob that escaped her lips. It had been a full week since they returned to the city, yet she had not stepped a single foot outside her bedroom. The once lively girl who used to laugh and run through the halls was now just a silent, crumpled figure, swallowed by the heavy weight of loneliness.

Tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks, soaking the sleeves of her pajama top as she hugged her knees tightly against her chest. Her voice, hoarse from days of crying, barely rose above a whisper as she rocked herself back and forth.

"Mommy... Papa... where are you?" she whispered, her voice breaking in desperation. "Please come back. I'll be a good girl, I promise."

The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut as if to shield her from a world that had already forgotten her. She kept whispering the same pleas over and over, as if repeating them might somehow reach her parents wherever they were.

Her small hands gripped the fabric of her clothes, knuckles turning white from how tightly she clutched onto herself.

"I'm not stubborn anymore..." she choked out, her chest heaving from the force of her sobs. "We don't have to go to the province. We can just celebrate my birthday here... just here at home..."

Her voice grew weaker, trailing into broken gasps, but the pleading never stopped.

"Ate... Kuya... please... please come back..."

Her cries echoed softly around the four corners of the room, unanswered. No one came to wipe her tears or gather her in a warm embrace. The silence was deafening, pressing down on her fragile heart, making it harder and harder to breathe.

A week had passed, but to her, time no longer made sense. Day and night blurred together behind the curtains she refused to open.

No one dared to force her out of the room. Not the maids, not Tita Anna, not even the doctor who came once but left when Cynthia wouldn’t speak.

“Mommy… Papa… where are you?” she whispered again, her voice hoarse. “Come back, please. I’m a good girl now. I promise I am.”

She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, as if wiping away the grief would make them appear. But all it did was smudge her face with dried tears and sleep. Her once-bright eyes now stared blankly at the wooden floor, as though hoping it would open up and take her back to the last moment she saw her parents—smiling, waving, boarding the plane with Kuya and Lolo.

“I’m not stubborn now,” she murmured to the silence. “Let’s just celebrate my birthday here, okay? We can stay in the room. I don’t mind. I just want you back. My family."

She tried to smile, as if pretending could make it real. But the smile cracked faster than it formed. Her voice shook. “I promise I’ll share my cake. You can even have the first slice. I won’t fight with Kuya Marvin anymore. Just… please…”

A knock came at the door. Gentle. Hesitant. Tita Anna’s voice followed, muffled but tender.

“Cynthia,” Tita Anna said, her tone stiff. “Isang linggo na. Tama na.”

The little girl stayed curled up in the corner, hugging her pillow tight. Her eyes were puffy, cheeks streaked with dried tears.

“Cynthia,” her aunt repeated, more forcefully this time. “Sabi ko, tama na ‘yan.”

Still, no response.

“Hindi ka pwedeng magkulong dito habang-buhay!” Her voice grew louder. “Akala mo ba ikaw lang ang nasasaktan? Ha? Iniisip mo ba ako—na kapatid ko ang nawala? Na tatay ko rin ‘yon?”