I was scrolling through my phone—same as every other day. Bored. Numb. Empty.There was nothing new, nothing exciting, nothing that made me feel anything anymore.
Just a familiar weight in my chest.Just the echoing silence of loneliness, louder than anything on my feed.
I kept scrolling, hoping the screen would distract me, numb me, give me even a second's relief. But like always, it didn't work.With a sigh, I tossed my phone onto the bed and closed my eyes.
The voices came, as they always did.Try something.Move.Do anything.
But I didn't. I just lay there, drowning in the dark thoughts swirling through my head.
I'm not the protagonist of a story. Not even my own life.At best, I'm a background character. Ordinary. Forgettable.And maybe that's all I'll ever be.
I tried. God knows I did.
Basketball. Swimming. Karate.I trained, I studied, I gave everything I had.But effort means nothing when you're up against talent, money, and connections.
I wanted glory.To rise above the grey sea of mediocrity.To not feel so useless… so average… so alone.
So I turned to chess. My last hope.
And I got stuck—firmly—at 200 ELO.That was the final blow.No more dreams. No more hopes.
From now on, I'll keep my head down.Study. Work. Survive.I don't want happiness or sadness anymore. Not love or hate. Just peace.And maybe, if I'm lucky, enough money to retire early and disappear.
I picture the rest of my life like this:Graduate with top grades. Get a normal job.Save every coin. Live off my parents as long as they're alive.Buy a tiny apartment somewhere cheap—probably a slum.Retire early. Die quietly.Donate whatever's left.
Marriage? Out of the question.
In my country, marriage costs millions.And the laws? They favor women so much, some treat marriage and divorce like a business.I won't spend 20 years building a life just to lose it in court—or worse, rot in jail because someone wanted a payout.
And love?It exists outside marriage, sure. But not for me.My religion, my principles, and the customs of my people won't let me take that path.And after all these years of keeping myself restrained, of suppressing every feeling—I'm not about to hand it all over to someone who didn't do the same.
I know how all this sounds.Bitter. Cynical. Maybe even pathetic.But this is the truth of who I am.
And this is where my story begins.
Not with greatness.Not with destiny.Just with a tired, broken, invisible boy—waiting for the world to forget him.