87,000 đồng and a third pack of noodles

A rented room in Saigon, end of the month. Exactly 87,000 đồng left in her account, and for two days she's eaten nothing but instant noodles. The water has just boiled; she tears open the third pack of the day — not out of craving, just because there's nothing else.

She counts the money in her head, then counts again. 87,000 for whatever's left of the month. Steam rises, the third pack sits in the bowl. She doesn't call home, doesn't text anyone. She just waits, quietly, for the noodles to soften.

That night she opens her phone, thumb already hovering to call her mom for more money. Then a new photo lands in the family chat: her parents have just sold a few plots of rice, working out next semester's tuition for her younger brother. She sets the phone down. She doesn't call.

Late at night, stomach still growling, her mom texts: "Have you eaten yet?" She types "already did, mom" while slurping the noodles down. A small lie, just so the people back home can rest easy.

It's not that I'm not hungry. I just don't want her to worry.

Some hunger we keep to ourselves, only so the ones at home can sleep. Have you ever swallowed an "I'm fine" like that?