The sun hadn't even risen, but Mimi was already awake.
Her soft pink room glowed under the twinkle lights strung across the ceiling. Light filtered through the sheer curtains as she sat up, clutching her plushie to her chest, blinking sleepily. Her room smelled like cherry blossom body spray and strawberry shampoo. Everything was perfectly placed — fluffy pillows, heart-shaped mirrors, tiny drawers full of glitter clips.
Today felt like it would be a good day.
She reached for her phone on the bedside table, squinting at the time. 5:41 AM. Still early — just the way she liked it.
With a quiet hum, she slipped out of bed, her pastel nightgown brushing against her legs as she tiptoed to her vanity. She clicked on the light. Her reflection blinked back at her: warm brown skin, soft black hair with blonde highlights, and sleepy eyes waiting to be brought to life.
She smiled at herself and whispered, "Let's be pretty today, too."
Mimi didn't just wear makeup — she loved it.
Her Douyin-inspired routine was a mix of glitter, glow, and tiny, perfect details. She swirled her blush extra high on her cheeks, then tapped shimmer on her nose and eyelids. Glossy lips, winged liner, wispy lashes. She added a heart sticker below her eye, giggling to herself.
She chose her outfit carefully — a baby pink sweater with white bows down the sleeves, a pleated skirt, and her favorite fluffy leg warmers. It was cute, soft, and unapologetically her. She pinned a butterfly clip into her bangs and stepped back.
"Cute!" she whispered again.
Downstairs, the kitchen was quiet. Mimi tied her apron and hummed while making breakfast. She cooked sunny-side-up eggs, cut heart-shaped toast, and added strawberries to the side. She plated everything for her parents, even making a little extra for herself.
"Mimi, you didn't have to wake up this early," her mom said, walking in with a yawn.
"I wanted to," Mimi beamed, pouring her dad's tea. "I like mornings."
"You spoil us," her dad mumbled, already sipping.
She just giggled and sat beside them, eating quietly, swinging her legs under the table.
School was her happy place.
Not because of the classes — Mimi wasn't especially in love with math — but because she loved people. She waved at everyone she saw, complimented their hair, passed little notes during break, and always shared her candy stash.
"Mimi!" Yui waved, skipping over. "You look like a living doll today!"
"You always say that," Mimi said, cheeks going pink.
"Because it's always true."
At lunch, they shared a strawberry crepe and chatted about nothing — teachers, outfits, music. Mimi listened more than she spoke, nodding with a soft smile.
She liked listening.
She liked seeing people happy.
After school, Mimi walked home slowly, stopping to take photos of the flowers blooming near the bakery. She loved spring. It was her favorite season. Everything smelled sweet, and her hair didn't frizz.
She paused to help a little girl tie her shoelace near the park, then gave a tired stray cat some of her tuna sandwich. Her kindness wasn't loud. It wasn't performative. It was just... Mimi.
She got home by sunset, cheeks flushed from the walk, skirt a little wrinkled. She slipped off her shoes, tiptoed to the kitchen again, and started making dinner without being asked. It was her little way of saying "thank you" for her life, her house, her parents.
She didn't notice how quiet they were until she turned off the stove.
Her mom sat at the table. Her dad stood nearby. Both of them too serious.
Mimi tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
Her mom motioned for her to sit. "We need to talk."
A tiny chill ran down her spine. She placed the ladle down and sat slowly, fingers clasped in her lap.
"You're getting married."
The words dropped like ice water.
Mimi blinked. "...Huh?"
"To a woman named Kijo Volkov," her dad added. "She's from Russia. She owns a company. It's... it's arranged."
"But..." Mimi's voice barely came out. "Why?"
Her mother didn't answer at first. "It's complicated. But everything's already signed."
Mimi sat frozen.
"I... I'm still in high school," she whispered.
"I know," her dad said quietly. "But you leave in two weeks."
Silence.
No warning. No choice. No voice.
And no text.
She checked her phone with trembling fingers — some part of her hoping, wishing, that maybe this Kijo person sent something. A 'hello'. A 'sorry'.
Nothing.
Whoever Kijo was... she didn't even care enough to say hi.
Mimi sat back, tears forming, heart squeezing.
Her life — her safe, pink, soft little world — was already slipping away.
To Be Coninued….