The sharp cry of my alarm dragged me out of sleep. I groaned, burying my face in the pillow, wishing I could shut out the sound, shut out the day, shut out everything. But mornings were relentless. No matter how much I wanted the world to wait, it never did.
With a sigh, I pushed myself upright, strands of white hair falling messily into my eyes. They shimmered faintly in the pale morning light that crept through my curtains, almost glowing against my skin. People always stared at my hair. Or my eyes. Or both.
My green eyes blinked back at me from the mirror as I washed up. Too bright. Too strange. Too unlike everyone else. No matter how many times I told myself it was just genetics, just coincidence, I could never quite shake the feeling that they didn't belong here. That I didn't belong here.
I dressed quickly in my uniform, combed my hair again (though a few stubborn strands always slipped loose), and headed downstairs.
The smell of breakfast met me first. Warm, comforting, familiar. My mother moved gracefully in the kitchen, her hands steady as she set a plate on the table.
"Eat quickly before you're late," she said, her voice carrying the same soft warmth it always did.
In the living room, my father sat on the sofa, half-hidden behind his newspaper. The rustle of turning pages was his ritual. He didn't look up when I entered. He rarely did.
"Good morning," I said, though my voice barely reached beyond the clink of cutlery.
I ate quietly, the rhythm of breakfast so familiar it felt mechanical. My mother hummed a tune I didn't recognize. My father coughed once, then returned to reading. Nothing here ever changed.
By the time I stepped outside with my schoolbag slung over my shoulder, the streets were already busy. Cars passed, voices rose and fell, neighbors greeted one another. And yet, walking among them, I always felt apart.
---
School was no different.
The classroom buzzed with chatter when I entered. Students laughed, traded notes, shared snacks. No one looked my way—except to whisper.
"Her again…"
"Look at that hair. Weird, right?"
"And those eyes. Creepy."
I kept my face blank, sliding into my usual seat by the window. If I let their words sting me, I'd bleed every day.
So I watched the world outside instead. The sky stretched endlessly beyond the trees in the courtyard, a freedom I could only reach in my imagination.
The lessons passed in a blur of chalk on blackboards and murmured explanations. I wrote notes. Answered questions when asked. Did everything I was supposed to. Still, I felt invisible, like a shadow drifting through the day.
At lunch, I sat alone, as always, a book open before me. The words on the page pulled me in, away from the noise around me. In stories, people like me weren't outcasts—they were heroes. Chosen. Different because destiny made them so.
But I wasn't a hero. I was just strange. And no story ever came looking for me.
By the time classes ended, my bag felt heavier than it should. My classmates filed out in groups, their laughter lingering in the air as they walked home together. I walked alone.
---
When I reached home, the house was quiet. My father was still in the living room, absorbed in his paper, while my mother moved softly in the kitchen, the faint clatter of pans echoing against the walls.
I slipped upstairs without a word.
My room was small, but it was mine. Stacks of books lined the shelves, some novels read so many times their spines were cracked. I pulled off my uniform and changed into something more comfortable: a loose shirt, a light jacket, shoes worn from too many quiet walks.
Most days, I would have stayed there, curled up with another book until sleep claimed me. But the thought of sitting alone again made my chest feel heavy. So I left.
I didn't tell my parents where I was going. I never did. They wouldn't have asked.
---
The streets grew quieter as I walked further from home. Fewer people, fewer houses, until the world seemed to thin out around me. My feet knew the way without thought, guiding me down the path I had taken countless times before.
The lake waited.
It wasn't hidden deep in the forest, but it wasn't visible from the city either. It lingered in that quiet space between—forgotten, overlooked. Maybe that's why I loved it.
The trees whispered as I passed, their leaves trembling in the evening breeze. When I stepped into the clearing, the air shifted. It always did.
The lake stretched before me, still and silent. Its surface caught the last traces of sunset, turning the water into molten gold fading into silver. I sank down at its edge, hugging my knees, staring at the reflection that stared back.
My hair glimmered faintly in the dimming light. My green eyes flickered, bright against the shadowed water. For a moment, it almost seemed as though they glowed.
I blinked. The glow vanished. Just a trick of the light.
Still, the lake felt strange. Not dangerous, not threatening—just… different. As if time itself slowed here. As if the air carried something unseen, pressing gently against my skin.
I didn't understand it, but I didn't need to. This place belonged to me in a way nothing else did.
Here, the world's noise fell away. Here, the whispers at school, the silence at home, the loneliness in my chest—all of it dissolved.
Here, I could breathe.
And yet… sometimes, staring at the ripples, I wondered why it felt so different. Why this one place felt alive when everything else felt empty.
Maybe one day, I'd find the answer.
---
The sky darkened until the first stars shimmered faintly overhead. I stood reluctantly, brushing off the grass from my clothes. My steps carried me back toward the city, toward the familiar rows of houses where warm lights glowed in windows.
By the time I reached my own home, the streets were nearly empty. I paused at the door, the handle cool beneath my fingers. For some reason, unease prickled at the back of my neck, though I didn't know why.
I pushed the door open.
And froze.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart skipped painfully.
I couldn't move. Couldn't think.
The sight before me rooted me to the doorway, my vision tunneling, my mind reeling as if the world itself had shifted beneath my feet.
This wasn't right. This wasn't normal.
For one fragile moment, I thought I might collapse.
I didn't understand what I was seeing. I couldn't even be sure it was real.
But I knew one thing with certainty—
whatever this was, nothing about my life was ever going to be the same again.