After reading the prologue and feeling that I might not dislike this novel, I decided to move on to the first chapter. It's curious, because now I wonder—would this be what someone would read if they were inside my head, reading my thoughts as if I were just another character in their book?
Wouldn't that be unsettling?
I keep thinking about it, my eyes fixed on the letters of the book in front of me. Suddenly, a voice pulls me back into the classroom.
"Lian, would you care to share your thoughts with the class?"
I'm not surprised. The question doesn't faze me. I'm used to being asked things right in the middle of a thought. I look up, meet the teacher's eyes, and reply calmly.
"Of course, sir. As I was saying, the concept is…"
But even as I speak, my mind keeps wandering. The book I'm reading talks about a world without Branches. It's strange to think about. A world without those abilities we all have from birth. Some Branches are as simple as superhuman strength, others as rare as the ability to fly or even breathe underwater.
It's strange to imagine living without that. What would it be like? Something like that feels as unreal as a story about aliens or journeys to fantasy worlds.
"…the concept is simple. First, we need to identify the subject's Branch in order to…" I continue, returning to my explanation, though my thoughts are still circling around that world without powers.
The bell finally rings, marking the end of the day. Students rise at once, some chatting, others already pulling out their phones. I'm in no rush. I stay seated a moment longer, watching as the classroom slowly empties. I don't mind—I've never been the type to hurry out the door.
When I finally get up, the school feels calm, as if the day had ended for everyone but me. I walk down the hallway, and as I reach the exit, the cool afternoon air greets me.
I step through the threshold and pause for a moment. I look up at the sky, already starting to take on an orange hue. It's a peaceful sight, like the life I've built so far.
With my Branch, I can have a stable life. I'm not one of the most powerful, not one of those elites everyone admires, but maybe that's not necessary. My ability gives me a comfortable life—no highs, no lows, no surprises.
And yet, a small part of me feels… unsatisfied. Maybe I expected my life to be something more, or hoped that something exciting would eventually come along. It's not that peace bothers me, but sometimes I wonder if this is all there is for me.
I shake my head and start walking home, letting those thoughts fade with each step.
When I arrive, the familiar air of home welcomes me. I hang up my jacket and join my parents in the dining room. My father, Elías, is in his usual spot. He greets me with a nod.
"How was your day?" he asks, his tone firm but with that quiet warmth that needs no extra words.
My mother, Selene, smiles and hands me a plate.
"All good at school, Lian?" she asks, passing me a generous portion of food.
The conversation flows naturally. My father mentions that an old colleague contacted him about a project, though he's unsure whether to take a break or keep working at the same pace. My mother, with her mix of joy and concern, responds:
"You should take advantage of the calm."
"That's what everyone keeps telling me," my father replies, taking a sip of water, "but sometimes it feels like there's never a good time to stop."
After a while, my mother changes the subject with her usual light tone.
"Lian, have you thought about what you'll do after school? Any plans for the future?"
My father, who's been silent for a bit, watches me as she asks. He doesn't usually talk much about that sort of thing, but when he does, he's direct.
"The important thing is to choose something that gives you stability. It's not always about what you're most passionate about, but about what will keep you well in the long run." His voice is calm, but there's conviction in it.
My mother nods and gives me a smile—soft, but filled with unconditional support.
"You have all the time in the world, sweetheart. Whatever you choose, we'll be here to support you."
My mother's words echo in my mind. Sometimes it's easy to forget, but I know she means it. Amid all her energy, she always finds time to make sure we feel supported.
Dinner flows in that peaceful atmosphere. A few jokes, some laughter. Everything feels in its place.
When we're done, I get up and, after a brief exchange of words, head upstairs slowly. The soft sound of my steps accompanies the quiet of the house. Once in my room, I close the door behind me and let myself fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Today was a quiet day, almost routine, and even though I don't mind that, I always feel a little more alert after days like this. With a soft breath, I close my eyes for a moment. I find it easy to focus on the small details—like how everything seems to settle into place, or the faint murmur coming in through the cracked window.
My ability, Analysis, has never made me feel like I'm someone extraordinary, though sometimes I'm surprised by how easily things stick with me.
It's not just memory—it's a deep, almost intuitive understanding of anything I study. As if everything had an underlying logic I just need to uncover, and once I do, everything makes sense. It can be anything: a math formula, a passage from a book, or even how to improve a strategy in a game. I break it down, analyze it, and it all becomes clear.
I don't mind that my ability isn't flashy or spectacular like others'. I know it has its own value, and that's enough for me.
I lie back a little more, letting my mind drift between the memories of the day and scattered thoughts. The quietness of my life lets me keep moving forward, each step clear, without the need for complications.