Winter was almost gone.
The air still carried a soft chill, gentle enough to be pleasant. Morning sunlight slowly climbed over the horizon, slipping through the curtains of a quiet room and painting golden lines across the walls.
One of those rays fell on a boy lying on the bed.
It touched his hair first, catching the faint gold in it, then traced the sharp lines of his features. His eyelashes fluttered slightly before his eyes opened, revealing a shade of blue that reflected the pale sky outside the window.
He layed still for a moment staring at the ceiling, letting the light settle across him.
The world beyond the glass was waking slowly. Trees swayed in the mild winter breeze, birds moved between branches, and the sky was painted in soft shades of orange and blue.
His room reflected discipline and order. A high-end computer sat neatly on his desk, books stacked beside it. A football rested quietly near the corner. On a shelf, trophies caught the sunlight
One, in particular, gleamed brighter than the rest. Its golden surface reflected the morning rays, and engraved on its base, in simple letters, was a name
Arthur.
He glanced at it briefly. Not with pride. Not with excitement. Just recognition.
Turning away, he walked to the kitchen. On the table, breakfast waited-toast, fruit, and a cup of tea, still warm. He ate in silence, methodically, letting the sunlight stretch across the floor and warm the edges of the room.
Outside, the countryside was slowly coming to life. The cold breeze carried the faint scent of damp earth. Arthur stepped outside, adjusted his bag, and unlocked his gear cycle. The quiet road stretched ahead, lined with swaying trees and soft shadows.
School felt different from the quiet of the house. It was louder, more chaotic, but it suited him.
"Arthur! Wait up!" a familiar voice called.
He turned to see a friend jogging toward him, grin wide. Another followed, laughing at some joke he hadn't caught. Arthur smiled lightly, matching their energy without effort.
"You're late," the first friend teased.
"By two minutes," Arthur replied casually.
The friend laughed, shaking his head. "Still counts."
Arthur didn't mind. He liked mornings like this easy, unhurried, predictable.
At school, everything fell into its usual rhythm. Teachers nodded approvingly at his answers. Classmates asked for his notes, and he gave them readily, smiling when necessary.
On the football field, he moved differently. Focused. Precise. The ball obeyed his rhythm, rolling exactly where he intended it to go. When he scored, teammates cheered loudly. Arthur raised a hand in acknowledgment, his face calm, almost unreadable.
He wasn't quiet.
He wasn't invisible.
He was the kind of person everyone noticed, admired even.
During lunch break, his group of friends gathered under the shade of a tree. Conversations flowed naturally-homework complaints, teacher jokes, weekend plans.
"My dad wants me to take extra tuition," one groaned.
"My mom already picked my college choices," another added.
Arthur listened, half-smiling, answering occasionally, making sure he fit in. But there were always topics he avoided: his parents, his childhood, the emptiness of home.
"Hey, what about you?" someone asked casually. "Still living alone?"
Arthur blinked. "Yeah. Same as always. Nothing new."
The conversation shifted immediately. No one pressed further.
Except her
She sat a little apart from the group, eyes quietly observing him. She had been in his life longer than anyone else, always there in the background, patient, steady.
After lunch, they walked to the cycle stand together.
"You played well today," she said softly.
"Thanks, Ciara" Arthur replied.
A pause hung between them. The noises of the school yard seemed distant, almost muted.
"Everyone's talking about the future," Ciara continued. "Feels strange, doesn't it? Last year already."
Arthur nodded, "Yeah."
Ciara hesitated, as if she wanted to ask something more, but didn't. They walked in silence for a few steps before she smiled faintly.
"See you tomorrow."
"See you," he replied.
The cold air hit him again as he rode home. The sunlight still lingered on the horizon, brushing gold across the countryside. The house awaited quietly, just as it had every day. The trophies, the neatly arranged books, the silent rooms they were constant. Safe. Predictable.
Arthur stepped inside, placed his bag down, and sat on the edge of his bed. For a moment, he just looked at the sunlight fading on the floor.
Outside, he was a boy everyone knew.
Inside, he was someone no one had ever really seen.
And somewhere beneath the calm, disciplined surface, something long buried was beginning to stir.