"Funny," he said softly, almost like he was amused. "Back in school, you liked to laugh at me. Called me names. Told everyone I was a creep, a pervert."
The room was quiet except for the scrape of her shoes against the floor as she tried to crawl away. Her hands trembled, nails clawing at the wood, leaving faint scratches. Mattias followed slowly, each step measured, his shadow stretching long across the wall.
She whimpered, shaking her head. "P-please, Mattias, I didn't mean it—"
"Oh, you meant every word." His voice cut through hers, calm and sharp like a blade. "And you didn't stop there, did you? You whispered to her. You told her lies about me. You laughed when she cried. You—" He crouched, bringing his face level with hers. His smile was slow, wicked. "—you pushed her closer to death."
She shook violently, pressing herself back against the wall as if it could swallow her whole. Tears smeared her mascara.
Mattias tilted his head, watching her with cold fascination. "You know, I could end this right now. But that would be… merciful." His eyes gleamed. "And you don't deserve mercy."
"Please," she whispered, voice cracking. "I swear, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me."
Mattias chuckled, low and dark. He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel his breath. "Let me tell you a story."
Her sobs stilled for a moment, fear trapping her breath.
"There was once a boy," he began, his tone almost gentle. "A boy who wanted nothing more than to be seen. To be loved. He was weak, pitiful. Everyone mocked him. Everyone… except one girl. She loved him. She gave him hope." His eyes hardened. "And then, someone took her away."
Her lips quivered. "I—I didn't—"
Her body shook violently now, words spilling out in a broken flood. "Please, Mattias—I'll do anything! I'll disappear, I'll never tell anyone—just let me go!"
He leaned back slightly, studying her like a predator deciding whether the prey was worth killing. His smile widened, cruel and beautiful all at once.
"You're not begging for forgiveness," he murmured. "You're begging for survival. But forgiveness…" His eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a whisper that made her blood run cold. "…is not part of my story."
Her knees scraped against the floor as she dragged herself backward, sobbing, eyes wild with terror. Mascara streaked her face, lips trembling as she pressed her palms together in desperation.
"I'm begging for forgiveness," she choked, voice breaking. "Mattias, please… please."
He stopped just a step away, watching her crumble. Then, with unnerving calm, he pulled a chair from the corner. The wooden legs screeched across the floor, making her flinch. He swung it around and sat down backwards, arms folded over the backrest, his gaze never leaving hers.
"Shhh." He raised a finger to his lips, almost tender, almost mocking. His voice came soft, measured, deadly. "Relax. I'm not here to rush."
Her sobs quieted into hiccups, fear tightening her throat.
Mattias leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with something colder than hatred. "Let me tell you how it all went."
He smiled—slow, cruel, the kind of smile that promised the story would not save her.
---
The morning bell rang, sharp and cold, slicing through the half-dreams of boys crammed into the hostel dormitory. Mattias rolled over on his narrow bed, clutching his blanket like it was the only thing that wanted him. Around him, the room stirred with life—laughter, teasing, the sound of lockers clanging open. He heard the boys trading jokes about last night's football match, about girls, about the usual things that gave them belonging.
But no one ever called his name.
He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, wishing just once someone would say, "Good morning, Matt."
Instead, a voice across the room cut sharp through the chatter.
"Oi, Pervert's awake."
A ripple of laughter filled the dorm. He froze, hands tightening into fists under the blanket. He hated that name. Hated how it stuck after one stupid misunderstanding in his first year. He'd been caught reading a romance novel under the desk—one that didn't even belong to him. They never let it go.
Now, no matter what he did—how quietly he studied, how carefully he tried to blend in—the label followed him.
"Don't stare too hard at the girls today," another boy snickered as they pulled on uniforms.
Mattias forced himself to stand, his uniform slightly wrinkled. He walked past them, silent, holding his books against his chest. The corridor outside smelled faintly of chalk and disinfectant. Students spilled out from every hostel, boys and girls converging toward the main hall. Voices filled the air, but not for him.
He tried, once again, to smile at someone. A group of girls from his class passed by. He shifted his books to one hand, lifted the other in a small wave.
They looked right through him.
One of them, bolder than the rest, whispered too loudly, "That's the creepy one."
The others giggled.
Mattias dropped his hand.
---
Classes were a blur. Numbers and dates on the chalkboard. Teachers calling on students—never him. His answers, when he tried to speak, always came out too fast, too eager. And the class would laugh, or sigh loudly as if he'd wasted their time. So he learned to stay quiet, scribbling notes that no one would ever ask to borrow.
During lunch, he sat at the far corner of the cafeteria, a tray of rice and beans untouched. Around him, clusters of students leaned close, voices buzzing about crushes, test scores, weekend plans. He bit his lip, imagining himself sliding into one of those groups, laughing with them, being part of something.
But when he'd tried before, they'd shifted away. "You're too much, Matt," they'd said. "Annoying."
So he stayed in his corner. Invisible, except when they needed a target.
---
It was in that silence that he first noticed her.
Noticed—not met. Not yet.
She was across the cafeteria, seated with two friends. She had soft features, delicate as if she belonged in another world. She wasn't the loudest in the room, not the prettiest by gossip's cruel standards, but there was something in the way she laughed—quiet, almost fragile—that struck him.
Her laughter wasn't sharp like the others. It wasn't aimed at someone else's pain. It was… pure.
Mattias found himself staring. Not with hunger, not like they accused him. But with a desperate longing he couldn't put into words.
As if she could hear the thought, she turned suddenly, eyes sweeping the room. For one terrifying second, their gazes met. His heart stuttered.
Then she looked away.
But in that flicker of connection, something stirred in him.
Maybe, just maybe, not everyone would hate him forever.
---
Evening fell. The boarding school grounds were quiet except for crickets and the occasional shout from boys playing football under the fading sun. Mattias slipped out of the hostel, carrying his notebook. He walked past the dorms, past the library that smelled of dust and old paper, until he reached the edge of the field.
There, under the wide night sky, he sat on the grass. The stars blinked faintly through the haze of distant city lights.
He opened the notebook, though he didn't write. The blank page stared back, demanding something. Demanding proof that he existed, that his thoughts mattered.
Finally, he pressed the pen down, words spilling out:
"Someday, someone will see me. Someday, I won't be the boy no one wants. Someday, someone will love me."
His throat tightened as he scrawled the last line. He closed the notebook quickly, hugging it to his chest like a secret.
From the hostel windows, he could hear the laughter of boys and girls mixing in the twilight air. Laughter he was never part of.
But under that vast sky, Mattias whispered to himself—so quietly even the crickets didn't pause to listen:
"Someday."
And for the first time in a long time, he believed it.