The Silent Dream

That afternoon, sunlight streamed through the living room's floor-to-ceiling windows, falling on the newly bought baking mat. The off-white mat had little daisy patterns printed on it. I'd chosen it specially last week, thinking it would look pretty when Morgan Carter and I made mooncakes together. Morgan Carter walked in carrying two large bags of groceries, followed by five or six friends whose lively chatter quickly filled the once quiet house. He came over, set the bags filled with flour and red bean paste on the kitchen counter, and reached out to ruffle my hair. "Tina, let me introduce you: this is Shirley Lincoln, along with Eric, Cindy, and the others." I smiled and nodded, my gaze settling on Shirley Lincoln. She wore a black cropped jacket, her hair dyed light brown. A casual smile played on her lips, but when she looked at me, there was a faint, almost imperceptible look of scrutiny in her eyes. "I've heard Morgan say for a long time that his girlfriend is beautiful, and seeing her today, she really lives up to the hype," Shirley Lincoln walked over, reaching out to shake my hand. But just as her fingertips were about to touch mine, she pulled back and instead picked up a grape from the table and popped it into her mouth. I didn't pay attention to her little move and turned around to pour drinks for everyone. Morgan followed me quietly and whispered, "Shirley's my childhood friend." I looked back at him, saw the apology in his eyes, and smiled, shaking my head. "It's okay." At that time, I had no idea that this so-called 'straightforward' childhood friend would push me into the abyss. As everyone gathered around the table making mooncakes, Shirley suddenly clapped her hands, capturing everyone's attention. "Just making mooncakes is too boring. Let's play a game, shall we?" She held a piece of kneaded dough, her eyes sparkling. "Let's call it the coin game. We hide a coin inside one mooncake, and whoever bites into it has to face everyone's punishment. How does that sound?" Eric was the first to chime in, "Sounds fun! I'll go first and hide the coin!" Shirley stopped him with a smile and said, "Let me do it, so you guys don't cheat and then accuse me of favoring Morgan." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a one dollar coin, waving it in front of everyone before heading into the kitchen, saying she wanted to find a spot where no one could see her place it. I sat beside Morgan, helping him shape the mooncake dough into rounds, and casually asked, "The punishment won't be too harsh, right?" Morgan held my hand, his tone relaxed: "We're all friends. At worst, you'll have to meow like a cat or drink a glass of lemon juice. Don't worry." I nodded without giving it much thought, just treating it as a normal joke between friends. Now that I think about it, I really was so naive back then. Once the mooncakes were baked, they were arranged one by one on a white porcelain plate, steaming and filling the entire living room with their sweet aroma. Shirley Lincoln brought the plate to the center of the dining table and said, "All the mooncakes are the same, so just take whichever one you want." Everyone began picking up mooncakes one by one. I glanced around and reached for the one closest to me. The mooncakes were still warm, and when I bit into one, the sweet red bean paste blended perfectly with the fragrant dough—it was delicious. But with the second bite, I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my mouth, like something was scraping across my tongue and throat. It was broken glass! Panic swept through me, and I instinctively wanted to spit out what was in my mouth, my hands already covering my mouth. At that moment, Shirley suddenly came over and grabbed my wrist tightly. She was surprisingly strong. I winced in pain and tried to struggle, but she held me down even tighter. "It’s just a joke." Her voice went up, deliberately loud so everyone could hear, "You get a lucky bite but still want to secretly spit it out? That's just no fun at all, huh?" With her other hand, she covered my mouth, pressing her fingertip on my lips, sticky from kneading the dough, making me feel sick. Glass shards were still stuck in my throat. I wanted to cough, but no sound came out—only muffled 'ooh ooh' noises—then tears flooded my eyes. I blinked hard and looked at Morgan Carter sitting beside me, reaching out to grab the hem of his shirt, trying to get help. But Morgan looked away from me. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, with a faint, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his mouth. That smile felt like an icy blade, stabbing straight into my heart, hurting even more than shards of glass stuck in my throat.