The night Richard realized something was wrong with him, the sky was too beautiful.
At first, he thought he was just overthinking.
But the feeling wouldn't go away.
It had been growing inside him for months now… quiet, persistent, like a whisper that refused to fade.
Richard sat alone on the rooftop of his countryside home.
The old English-style house rested peacefully under a sky overflowing with stars. Pale moonlight spread across the stone roof and the endless green fields surrounding the house.
The wind brushed through the tall grass below, carrying the faint scent of rain and soil.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Richard leaned back against the cool tiles and stared at the moon.
"…Why do I feel like something's missing?"
His voice was barely louder than the wind.
He laughed quietly to himself.
"Great. Talking to the sky now. That's a new low."
He rubbed his face with both hands and sighed.
Twenty-six years old.
Yet somehow, life still felt incomplete.
The stars above him looked scattered—like fragments of something that had once been whole.
Broken pieces.
Incomplete.
That word had been appearing in his mind more and more lately.
Incomplete.
As if something inside him had been split apart long ago.
Richard closed his eyes.
Memories began surfacing.
Not the ones he wanted to remember.
The ones that always returned when the world became too quiet.
Once, he had been a cheerful kid.
At eleven years old, Richard believed life was full of endless possibilities.
He used to run through the countryside with his best friend George, racing across dirt roads and climbing trees like the world belonged to them.
"Bro, when we grow up we're going to be famous gamers," George once said confidently.
Richard laughed.
"No way. I'm becoming an explorer."
George blinked. "Explorer of what?"
Richard pointed dramatically toward the horizon.
"Everything."
Back then, the sky had felt full of promise.
But when Richard turned fourteen, something inside his home began to rot.
It started slowly.
His father began coming home later.
Then came the smell of alcohol.
Then the bottles.
Then the shouting.
Richard opened his eyes and looked at the moon again.
"…Yeah," he murmured quietly. "That's when everything changed."
The house that once felt warm slowly turned into a battlefield.
Morning arguments.
Afternoon silence.
Night explosions.
His father shouting.
His mother trying to calm him.
Plates breaking.
Doors slamming.
And somewhere inside that chaos, Richard stopped being a child.
He became the wall between everything.
His older sister Emily escaped into her room with music loud enough to drown out the fights.
His little brother Nick cried without understanding why their home suddenly sounded like war.
And Richard?
Richard stood in the hallway.
Every time his father raised his hand—
Richard stepped forward.
Not because he was brave.
Because he was terrified.
But the fear of losing his mother was worse.
"My mom was too kind for this world," Richard muttered.
She was gentle.
Soft-spoken.
Always apologizing.
Even when she had done nothing wrong.
Sometimes Richard hated that about her.
Her silence.
Why didn't she fight back?
Why didn't she scream?
Why did she stay?
Then there was the birthday party.
Richard could still remember that night clearly.
Balloons tied to fences.
Children laughing.
Neighbors chatting while eating cake.
It should have been a normal celebration.
But his father drank too much.
His voice grew louder than the music.
His accusations cut through the air like knives.
People turned to watch.
And Richard stood there frozen.
The strongest emotion he felt that night wasn't anger.
It wasn't sadness.
It was shame.
A burning feeling crawling under his skin.
What will they think of me?
That single thought echoed louder than his father's shouting.
Richard imagined the whispers later.
"Poor family."
"That boy's father is a drunk."
"How embarrassing."
Something inside him cracked that night.
After that, his world slowly became smaller.
Friends faded away.
Conversations became awkward.
Invitations stopped coming.
His life turned simple.
School.
Home.
Repeat.
By the time he reached university, Richard had already faded into the background.
He lived alone in a small rented room.
He tried making friends.
He really did.
But it never worked.
"I'm not handsome."
"Not funny."
"Not confident."
He laughed quietly.
"Basically… background character material."
People talked to him.
But nobody stayed.
Then the world stopped.
Covid hit.
Richard returned to his hometown.
Strangely, his father changed.
The anger disappeared.
The drinking stopped.
It was as if something inside him had burned itself out.
His mother forgave him.
Emily forgave him.
Nick forgave him.
Richard told himself he forgave him too.
But something inside him had already closed.
During lockdown, he spent most of his time in his room.
Scrolling endlessly through his phone.
Watching other people live their lives.
Locking the door became normal.
Safe.
Invisible.
In 2023, he tried going outside again.
Talking to people.
But something felt wrong.
Sometimes his speech slurred slightly when he got nervous.
Every conversation felt like walking across thin ice.
Whenever he talked to people, a quiet thought appeared.
I wish I were back home.
Back in his room.
Hidden.
Then, in 2025, something changed.
It was Nick.
One evening, his younger brother knocked on his door.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
And again.
Until Richard finally opened it.
Nick stood there with his hands in his pockets.
"Come outside," he said.
Richard frowned.
"Why?"
"Walk with me."
"I'm busy."
Nick looked past him into the room.
"You're scrolling again."
Richard stayed silent.
Nick sighed.
"Just one walk."
Something in his brother's voice made Richard pause.
No pity.
No pressure.
Just belief.
So he went.
The first walk felt uncomfortable.
The world outside felt too open.
But slowly… things changed.
Richard started noticing small things.
Birds singing at sunset.
The smell of rain hitting dry soil.
Sunlight filtering through leaves.
After years of isolation, the world felt beautiful again.
Around that time, Emily began reading spiritual books.
One day she left some on the table.
Richard picked one up.
Meditation.
Awareness.
The idea that humans were more than just their bodies.
At first he read casually.
Then seriously.
Sometimes while meditating, he felt something strange.
Like he was watching his thoughts from outside.
Observing them.
And sometimes—
He felt something even stranger.
A quiet realization.
Like part of him wasn't there.
Like something essential was missing.
Richard opened his eyes and stared at the moon again.
"…Am I broken?"
The wind brushed across the rooftop.
But tonight, something felt different.
For the past month, he had felt a strange sensation.
Like someone was watching him.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Something unseen.
Richard slowly sat up.
His eyes scanned the night sky.
"…Who's there?"
The stars remained silent.
But deep inside his chest—
That strange feeling suddenly intensified.
Richard's heart skipped a beat.
Because for a brief moment…
He could swear—
One of the stars was looking back at him.