There are some boys who walk into a room and fill it with noise — loud laughter, bold opinions, endless energy.
Ryan wasn't one of them.
He was the kind who sat in the corner of a classroom, headphones in but music off — just enough to stay disconnected. He observed more than he spoke. Not because he didn't have thoughts, but because not every thought needed to be said out loud.
He liked silence.
Not the uncomfortable kind — the kind that wraps around you like a blanket when no one understands.
While the world chased conversations and cliques, Ryan found peace in empty benches, quiet walks, and people-watching from a distance.
He wasn't anti-social. Just… selectively social.
He'd smile when needed, respond when asked, nod during group talks — but he never really belonged anywhere.
And honestly, he had learned to be okay with that.
Ryan's life was simple… but not easy.
He didn't live with his parents.
They were there — just not here. Work, cities, and life had taken them elsewhere, while he stayed back in a small town, raised quietly by his grandparents. People around never really asked why. Maybe they didn't care. Or maybe he just didn't want to explain.
But growing up like that… it leaves something inside you.
Not a scar — more like an empty corner.
His grandparents loved him deeply, yes. They fed him, cared for him, and tried to give him a world that felt whole.
But deep down, Ryan always carried a quiet kind of loneliness — the kind that doesn't come from being alone, but from knowing the ones you love are out of reach.
That's probably why he felt more.
Why he noticed more.
Why he grew up with a softness that the world often mistook for weakness.
He remembered small things — like how his grandmother's hands trembled while pouring tea, or how his grandfather hummed old Hindi songs while watering plants.
He noticed emotions in people's faces.
He read between lines others skipped.
But no one really noticed that he noticed.
Ryan was a thinker. A daydreamer. A quiet one in a loud world.
He believed in observing life, not rushing through it.
He didn't believe in love-at-first-sight or dramatic twists. He believed that connections grew slowly — like seeds that didn't bloom until you truly looked.
He wasn't waiting for anyone.
He wasn't searching for love.
He was just... living. Silently. Softly. Fully.
And yet — somewhere inside, he always felt that something was missing.
Not a person. Not a goal. Just… a space. A connection he hadn't found yet.
That space wasn't filled yet.
But the story was about to begin.