The First Collision
The house wasn't a home.
It never was.
He stepped through the front door, the sharp echo of his father's voice slicing through the hallway like a blade.
"Why do I even bother sending you to that school if you keep embarrassing me?!"
He didn't answer. He never did.
His fingers gripped the strap of his backpack tighter, ignoring the tension behind him. One breath at a time. Just get to the room.
The door shut behind him with a soft click, sealing him away from the chaos. Dropping his bag onto the bed, he sat down and pulled open his school diary.
And that's when everything in him cracked.
Scrawled across the page in red marker — not from the teacher, but from someone else's hand — were the words:
"Loser. Why don't you disappear?"
His knuckles turned white around the paper. He stared at the ink as it blurred with the rage rising in his chest. The boiling silence screamed louder than his father ever could.
The next morning was no different.
Whispers followed him down the hallway like ghosts. His locker had been trashed again — open, empty, vandalized. Someone had drawn devil horns on his ID photo.
The teachers looked the other way. The students didn't look at him at all.
And at home, his father's eyes held that same storm of disappointment. No questions. No comfort. Just silence and shame.
That evening, he walked.
No destination. No purpose. Just the cold pavement beneath his feet and the hope that if he kept moving, maybe the thoughts would stay behind.
It was in that nameless street, under the flicker of a dying streetlight, that it happened.
Two boys, older, taller — the usual predators.
They circled him like wolves, shoving him, laughing as his bag hit the ground.
"Look who we found. The silent freak," one of them sneered.
He didn't flinch. He didn't cry.
He just waited for it to be over.
But then—
Thud.
A bag — not his — came flying through the air and smacked the taller boy square in the back.
"What the—?"
They both turned around.
And there she was.
A girl with wind-blown hair, fury in her eyes, and a quiet defiance in the way she stood — like she had nothing to lose and everything to fight for.
"Try picking on someone your own size," she said, voice calm, but laced with steel.
The boys hesitated. Confused. Threatened.
And for the first time ever, they left.
He blinked. Still frozen in place, heart thudding loud in his chest.
She walked toward him, picked up his bag, and held it out.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
He took the bag, fingers brushing hers. "...Yeah. I think I am now."
There was something in her gaze — not pity, not curiosity. Just understanding.
Like she saw all the pieces of him that no one else bothered to notice.
That night, for the first time in a long time…
He didn't feel invisible.