My name is Thomas.
Today, I skipped a lecture. I walked back to my boarding house, which is only a few minutes from campus. It was nothing special, just an ordinary day with low-hanging clouds, as if the sky itself was reluctant to look at me.
The small room, measuring two by three meters, awaited my arrival with its silence. Despite its cramped size, the place always gave me a sense of comfort, as if this tiny space was created solely for me.
I opened the door slowly, holding it so it wouldn't creak. The scent of old wood and damp air greeted me like a habit that never changed.
My room was immaculate. Clothes were folded perfectly, the study desk was free of dust, the bedsheets were without a single wrinkle, and the trash can had been emptied. I tidied everything meticulously, as if by cleaning this corner, I could somehow scrub away the black stains on my soul.
I lay down on the bed and stared at the pale ceiling. I felt nothing but a faint pressure in my chest, like a hollow space slowly expanding.
The atmosphere today was so quiet. There were no sounds of children playing, no chatter of mothers from across the street. There was only the sound of the clock hands ticking toward five, and a faint singing from the distance. That stillness seeped into me.
And truthfully, I liked it.
Tears flowed just like that, without warning. Perhaps this was a belated apology. Words that were once held back by my high ego now dissolved into useless sobs. I realized I had destroyed everything, and these tears would never be enough to fix a thing.
Time moved without meaning. I sat at the desk, reached for a paper and a pen, then wrote letters one by one for the people who once mattered. Once everything was written, I only stared blankly at the rows of papers before me, my mind drifting elsewhere.
I stood up calmly.
I took the rope I had bought at the hardware store earlier, then slid the chair beneath the room's vent. My movements were not rushed. Everything was done like a simple routine, like someone finishing their final task before heading home.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
I stepped onto the chair.