If anyone asked Benny later, he would say the day was fine.
That was the word that came to him most easily. Fine. Safe. Acceptable. The kind of answer that didn't invite more questions.
Morning arrived with the familiar knock on his door.
"Ben," his mother called. "You're going to be late."
"I'm up," Benny answered.
His voice sounded rough, like he'd been speaking all night.
He didn't remember sitting up.
One moment he was staring at the ceiling, and the next he was standing in the hallway, rubbing his eyes. The transition felt
incomplete, like a skipped frame in a video.
In the bathroom, the mirror reflected him accurately. Messy black hair. Faint shadows under his eyes. A thin scar near his eyebrow he'd had since middle school.
He stared longer than usual.
Nothing flickered.
Nothing moved behind him.
The relief came late and left too quickly.
At breakfast, his father, Daniel Park, talked about a delayed project at work, complaining about management in the same tone he always used.
His mother, Mina Park, scrolled through her phone, occasionally humming.
Benny sat quietly, chewing toast he barely tasted.
"You sleep at all?" Mina asked without looking up.
"Yes," Benjamin said too quickly.
She looked up then, eyes narrowing just slightly.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
She studied him for a second longer, then nodded. "You look tired. Eat properly today."
"I will."
Another lie. He didn't know why he said it.
Daniel folded his newspaper. "Exams coming up, right?"
"Yeah."
"Don't burn yourself out."
Benny nodded.
The conversation moved on.
Something about it felt rehearsed.
School was louder than it used to be.
Not in volume — in density. Like sounds were stacked too close together.
Benjamin walked through the gates with Ethan Kim, who was already talking about a game update that had apparently ruined everything.
"They nerfed it completely," Ethan said. "Like, what's even the point now?"
Benjamin nodded at the right moments.
Beside them, Jae Park (no relation) laughed loudly, shoving his backpack higher on his shoulder. "You say that every update."
"This one's different."
Benjamin smiled faintly.
In class, he copied notes automatically. His hand moved without effort, letters forming cleanly on the page even though he couldn't remember reading half the sentences.
"Benjamin."
He looked up.
"Y...Yes?"
The room was quiet.
Mrs. Alvarez raised an eyebrow. "Want to finish your thought?"
"My… thought?"
A few students snickered.
"You were explaining the answer," she said.
Benny stared at the board.
He had no memory of speaking.
"I—sorry," he said. "I spaced out."
Mrs. Alvarez sighed. "Again? Please pay attention."
He nodded, face warm.
As the lesson continued, a strange certainty lingered in his chest.
He was sure he had answered.
Not imagined it.
Answered.
But when he glanced at Ethan, there was no confusion on his face. No reaction at all.
The moment slipped away.
At lunch, the group sat at their usual table.
Mira Song talked about her parents arguing over vacation plans. Jae argued with Ethan about movies. Someone mentioned a rumor about a teacher quitting.
Benny listened.
Really listened.
But parts of the conversation felt incomplete, like sentences ended a second too early.
"—and then she just stopped," Mira said, laughing.
Stopped what?
Benny opened his mouth.
Closed it.
The conversation flowed on without pause.
No one noticed the missing piece.
Benny checked his phone.
No notifications.
No vibrations.
The absence felt heavier than it should have.
On the walk home, Benny slowed near the cracked sidewalk by the corner shop.
He'd passed it thousands of times.
Today, the crack looked different.
Sharper.
Angled.
Like an arrow.
Pointing toward his house.
His skin prickled.
"That's stupid," he muttered, stepping over it.
He didn't look back.
The house was quiet when he got home.
Too quiet.
Benny dropped his bag by the door and stood still, listening.
No footsteps. No voices. No hum of pressure.
Nothing.
"Normal," he said softly.
The word echoed faintly.
In his room, the phone lay exactly where he'd left it.
Face down.
He didn't touch it.
Instead, he opened his notebook and tried to study.
The words refused to stay put.
After a while, he realized he wasn't reading.
He was listening.
That realization made his stomach twist.
Dinner was uneventful.
Daniel asked about school.
"Fine," Benjamin said.
Mina watched him for a second too long.
Later, in bed, lights off, Benny stared at the wall.
He told himself he wouldn't reach for the phone.
He meant it.
Minutes passed.
Then—
Not a voice.
Not a sound.
A gap.
Like something had almost spoken and thought better of it.
Benjamin's breath caught.
"Just tired," he whispered.
The silence didn't argue.
Sleep came abruptly.
Too abruptly.
He dreamed of overlapping voices — not loud, just layered. Like radio stations bleeding into one another.
When he tried to focus on one, the others vanished.
Someone stood behind him.
He woke gasping.
3:17 AM.
The phone was face up.
He was certain he'd left it face down.
The screen was dark.
No messages.
No explanation.
As he turned it over, a sensation brushed his awareness — not vibration, not sound.
Recognition.
Like something registering his wakefulness.
Benjamin pulled his hand back.
The feeling faded.
But the room no longer felt empty.
The next morning, as he left for school, a thought followed him out the door:
Something hadn't lined up yesterday.
And whatever noticed first was waiting to see if he'd notice too.