The morning was gray. Not stormy, not bright—just the same dull gray Rey had grown used to.
His alarm buzzed like a dying machine. 6:30 a.m., another Tuesday. Another day in a life that felt more like an obligation than an existence.
Rey dragged himself out of bed in his cramped room, ducking to avoid the ceiling fan. His mattress was thinner than his patience, his blanket full of holes. The peeling wall across from him had a single poster: a faded print of a fantasy world, a dream he used to believe in. Now it only mocked him.
He stumbled into the kitchen, brushing past his father who was muttering under his breath while lighting a cigarette. The television was playing news in the background—more political promises, more fake smiles. His mother wasn't around. She worked night shifts as a hospital cleaner and barely slept. Rey saw her maybe once a week, usually when she was too tired to speak.
He grabbed a cold roti from the fridge, no time to warm it. College was a forty-minute bus ride, and if he missed the first one, he'd be late again. His father grunted something that sounded like "Don't screw it up today," before heading out the door.
Rey didn't reply.
---
The college campus was nothing special—just concrete, faded paint, and students pretending to care. Rey studied computer science, not because he loved it, but because it was the cheapest course with a job promise—if you were lucky or rich.
He wasn't either.
His classmates treated him like a ghost. He didn't talk much, and when he did, it was met with blank stares or sarcasm. His clothes weren't stylish, his shoes were worn out, and his phone had a cracked screen that cut his thumb when he scrolled.
---
"Hey loser," a voice snapped behind him as he entered the hallway.
It was Arjun, flanked by his two followers. They were the usual type—wealthy, well-groomed, and incredibly empty.
Rey ignored them and kept walking.
"I said something, beggar," Arjun snarled.
Rey kept walking.
The push came fast—his books fell, scattering papers across the hallway. A few people laughed. One girl filmed it, probably for a meme. No one helped.
Rey stared at the ground, jaw clenched.
He didn't speak.
Not because he was scared. But because he knew no one would care if he did.
---
After classes, he sat alone on the rooftop, watching the clouds swirl like wet paint. His lunch was a half-eaten samosa and a bottle of warm water. He chewed slowly, imagining he was somewhere else.
Anywhere else.
"Why does it feel like I'm not supposed to exist here?" he thought.
He remembered being a kid and drawing monsters in his notebook. He used to imagine worlds where he was someone powerful—someone seen.
But now, at 19, all he had were bruises he didn't report and a silence that grew heavier by the day.
---
That night, at home, dinner was stale rice and lentils. His father was drunk, yelling at the television. Rey's sister, eight years old, sat quietly in a corner, pretending to read.
Rey rubbed his temples and stared out the window.
The sky had turned a strange shade of crimson. Clouds churned like boiling oil, and for a second, he swore he saw a flicker of red lightning.
He blinked.
Gone.
Probably nothing. The city was polluted. The sky always played tricks.
But the air felt… tighter. Like it was holding its breath.
He went to bed early, pulling the thin sheet over his body. A sharp pain ran down his side—another bruise. He had forgotten it was there.
As sleep pulled him under, he whispered to himself,
"Maybe tomorrow will be different."
---
It would be.
But not in any way he could imagine.
---