Present Day – May 17, 2024 – 2:00 a.m.
The ceiling fan spinned as if it was tired of spinning, just like him.
Down the hallway, the kitchen lights still flickered — Ma probably forgot to switch them off again. The smell of turmeric and burnt oil which mixed with the scent of mosquito repellent. A typical night in a middle-class home, where everything looked pretty normal if you didn't look too closely.
He laid back, phone lighting up his face. No new notifications. Just the soft glow of people who didn't think of him, stories that he didn't care about, and a blank Google search bar that had shared his pain more than his friends ever did.
He smiled. That same practiced, polite smile that felt more like an instinct than an emotion now. People praised him —
"Always so calm."
"Such a good listener."
People say, "Real strength is quiet.It's in the restraint, the stillness, the ability to carry unbearable emotions and not let them destroy you. "
But what if the silence isn't strength? What if it's surrender?
The phone buzzed — 1 archived chat.
He hadn't seen that name in months.
He hadn't forgotten. He had just gotten better at pretending.
> Tap.
No new messages. Just the last one he sent.
One tick.
No reply.
And just like that, the air changed.
His chest didn't tighten. It hollowed. Like someone carved out the insides and left everything else intact.
He didn't cry. He didn't move. He just stared.
Then the clock struck 2:00 a.m.
A time once sacred — the hour their chats always ended, never with a goodbye, always with "you sleep first."
And suddenly, he was no longer in his room.
He was there — back in the memory he never meant to keep alive.
> July 18, 2023 – 7:37 p.m.
> The moment it all began.
> A follow request.
> A "hello."