Dan sat on the floor, sleepless since the night before. His eyes were still fixed on his phone, waiting—hoping—for any message or call from his mother.
It was already five in the morning.
His phone buzzed
But it wasn't her.
Just a reminder that school started today.
He slowly stood from the floor, but his legs were numb from sitting for so long. His body gave out and he collapsed again. He pushed himself up—fell. Tried again—fell again.
He was exhausted. Empty.
His mother was missing…
And he had no idea what to do.
He was completely alone now.
Another notification.
Another reminder.
He turned off his phone.
His vision blurred, and something warm dripped onto the floor
"Ah…"
Tears fell—quiet, unrestrained.
---
When he arrived at school, he hadn't eaten or slept. His eyes were dull, dark, and swollen. His body ached.
The rain still fell outside—lighter than yesterday, but steady. Students crowded the halls, searching for their classrooms.
Dan walked through the hallway, searching for his. He entered the room, took a seat, and rested his head on the table.
Someone sat beside him. Their shoulder bumped him, but he didn't react. He didn't have the energy.
Class began. The teacher introduced himself.
"Now, students, it's time to introduce yourselves," Sir Parker announced.
One by one, each student stood and shared their name.
When it was Dan's turn, he rose slowly.
"I'm Daniel Ethan Morrison… but you can call me Dan." He sat back down.
"He looks boring," one student whispered.
"Yeah," another chuckled.
The boy beside him stood.
"I'm Warren Sergei Alexandrovich."
The class fell silent.
Girls giggled. Some stared openly.
Dan didn't understand the reaction, but he didn't care.
The bell rang—lunch break.
Dan wasn't hungry. He left the room and headed for the library instead.
In the hallway, he bumped into Warren. He looked up—Warren was tall. Much taller. "Sorry…" Dan muttered and walked away.
Warren watched him go, running a hand through his hair before turning away.
---
Heavy rain hammered against the library windows, the sound almost drowning out the silence inside. Dan sat alone at a table, shoulders slumped, eyes red and heavy. He rubbed them and continued reading.
No one else was there.
Just him, the rain, and the soft turn of pages.
He felt it suddenly—a pair of eyes watching him. He looked up.
A tall figure stood in front of him.
Warren.
"Hey, is it alright if I sit here?" Warren gestured at the seat across from him.
Dan glanced at him, then back at his book, and nodded.
Warren sat down and opened the book he brought.
Minutes passed. Warren occasionally glanced at him.
"So, what book are you reading?" he asked quietly.
Dan didn't answer. He turned a page.
Warren chuckled. "Not a talkative guy, huh?"
Dan continued reading.
Warren studied him, amused. "You know, it's rude not to answer when someone talks to you."
Dan stayed silent.
Warren leaned forward, elbows on the table. "You're a quiet one, aren't you?"
No response.
"You could at least pretend to be interested in our conversation," Warren teased.
Dan sighed. "What do you want?" he asked quietly, dark circles under his eyes.
Warren's smile widened. "There you go. That wasn't so hard." He leaned back, arms crossed. "I just wanted to get to know you."
Dan stared blankly. "What's your deal?" he said flatly. "I know I'm new here, but I'm not dumb enough to tell you everything about me just for fun."
He stood, looking down at Warren. "Leave me alone."
He walked away.
Warren watched him leave, amused. He covered his mouth, chuckling. "He's more interesting than I thought…"
The rest of the day, Warren couldn't stop thinking about him. He watched him in class, noting his tired posture, drooping shoulders, and dark eye bags.
After dismissal, Warren headed to his car. The driver opened the door. As he got in, he spotted Dan walking alone. A smirk touched his lips.
---
Dan walked out of the school.
The rain had stopped.
The sun was out.
But he felt none of it.
He entered the small store.
"You're early," Mr. Brice said.
He came out from behind the counter and handed Dan an apron.
"I'll be out again, so take care of the store."
Dan nodded, put down his bag, tied the apron, and sat behind the counter.
The store was quiet.
Too quiet.
His mind drifted to his mother.
*Where did she go? What happened?*
His foot tapped anxiously against the floor.
"Hey…"
"Hey…"
"HEY!"
Dan flinched. He lifted his head, blank-eyed.
The drunkard man again. Worse than yesterday.
Dan stood and placed ten beers into a plastic bag.
"That will be 200 dollars, sir."
The man pulled out his wallet and threw money onto the counter.
Dan frowned. "Sir, it's not the right amount."
The man groaned. "Just give me the beer. I'll pay later."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't."
The man suddenly grabbed Dan's collar.
Dan didn't react. He was too tired.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said flatly. "I can't give it if you don't pay."
The man's grip tightened. "Don't repeat what I said."
Dan simply lifted a hand and pointed at the corner.
A CCTV camera.
"Everything you do is recorded," he said. "This will be my evidence."
The man froze, then released him. He snatched his money back and stormed out.
Outside, Warren sat in the backseat of his car, watching the entire scene. His smirk deepened.
"How amusing…" he whispered, tapping his finger against his leg.
"Sir, should we go home now?" the driver asked shakily.
Warren glanced at him through the mirror. The driver immediately looked away, trembling.
"Start the car," Warren said.
But his eyes stayed on Dan through the rain-speckled window.
---
Dan finished returning the beers to the fridge. Customers came one by one. Hours passed.
Five hours later, exhaustion pulled at every part of him.
Mr. Brice returned and walked to him. He handed Dan an envelope.
Dan opened it—money.
"That's your salary," Mr. Brice said.
Dan bowed. "Thank you, sir."
Mr. Brice patted his shoulder. "Go home, kid."
Dan removed the apron, grabbed his bag, and left
It was 8:30 p.m.
Still no message from his mother.
He went to the restaurant for his second job.
"You're here," Ms. Kate said.
"Sorry I'm late."
He placed his bag down and grabbed a tray.
"Table 3," the chef called.
He served.
Cleaned.
Served again.
Worked in silence.
Hours passed like a blur.
---
He unlocked the door of his house.
"Mom, I'm ho—" He froze.
The house was still dark.
Still dirty.
Still empty.
She wasn't home.
A tear slid down his cheek.
His knees gave out as he fell to the floor, covering his face as a heavy rush of tears finally poured out—quiet, painful, unstoppable.
He cried alone in the dark.
Just tell me what you want next.