Morning arrived without permission.
The sky was clear, almost mockingly beautiful, as if nothing had happened—
as if the world hadn't shattered someone the night before.
He stood still in the middle of the street, backpack hanging loosely from one shoulder. People passed him. Cars moved. Life continued.
But inside him, everything had already ended.
Every sound felt distant.
Every color felt wrong.
He kept replaying it.
Not the event itself—
but the moment right before it happened.
That fragile second where he still believed things could be fixed.
His hands trembled slightly. He shoved them into his pockets, not because he was cold, but because he didn't trust them anymore.
"Why didn't I notice?"
The question stabbed deeper than any memory.
At school, the classroom felt smaller than usual. Walls closing in. Air growing heavy. Laughter from other students scraped against his ears like noise from another universe.
Someone called his name.
He didn't respond.
Someone tapped his desk.
He flinched.
The teacher spoke. Words moved. Chalk scratched the board.
None of it reached him.
Because his mind was trapped somewhere else—
somewhere dark, silent, and irreversible.
He remembered the way things used to be.
Simple conversations. Stupid jokes. Ordinary days.
Now even those memories hurt.
They weren't comforting.
They were evidence.
Evidence that happiness had once existed…
and that he had failed to protect it.
During lunch break, he sat alone.
Food untouched.
He stared at his reflection on the table's metal surface—
eyes hollow, face unfamiliar.
"Is this really me now?"
His chest felt tight, not from pain exactly—
but from pressure.
Like something heavy was sitting inside him, refusing to move.
Not crying.
Not screaming.
Just staying.
That was the worst part.
After school, clouds gathered unexpectedly. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
He looked up.
For a moment, he almost expected the sky to answer him.
It didn't.
Rain started falling—not dramatic, not violent—
just quiet drops, one after another.
He stood there, letting himself get soaked.
People ran for shelter.
He didn't move.
Because for the first time, the outside finally matched how he felt inside.
Cold.
Heavy.
Unnoticed.
And as the rain blurred his vision, one thought surfaced—clearer than anything else:
This pain wasn't leaving.
It was settling in.
Not as a wound.
But as a part of him.
And deep down, he understood something terrifying—
This was only the beginning.