Kant sat cross-legged on his bedroom floor, hunched over an old spiral notebook. The lamplight cast a weak yellow glow across the room, illuminating the chaos on the pages before him — crossed-out phrases, violent loops of ink, and in the middle of it all, "SYLAN" scrawled over and over again like a chant gone wrong.
Sylan
Sylan
Sylan
He carved the name into the page with such force that the pen tore through in places.
"Why did you leave."
"WHY DID'NT YOU CALL."
Each word a knife. Each letter an accusation but still, the ache didn't leave his chest.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Kant!" Marin's voice cut through the air like a blade. "It's past seven! Are you seriously not dressed yet?"
He didn't respond. Didn't even flinch. His hand kept moving, kept bleeding thoughts onto paper like it was the only way to survive the pressure building inside him.
Marin stormed into the room and froze when she saw what he was doing. Her eyes darted to the floor, to the pages littered around the room.
"Kant..." she said, more gently now. "What the hell are you doing?"
Still nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. Without warning, she marched forward, grabbed the notebook from under his hand, and yanked it free.
"Give it back!" Kant barked, jumping to his feet.
But she was already flipping through it — page after page of heartbreak disguised as hate. Sylan's name scratched into every corner like it was the only word Kant remembered how to write.
Marin looked up, stunned. "Seriously?."
"I said give it back," Kant growled, reaching for the notebook.
Marin pulled it away, her voice sharper now. "You need to stop obsessing over him. It's the least you could do"
"I didn't ask for your opinion," he spat, chest heaving.
"Well, you're getting it anyway!" she replied in a much calmer tone."You can't keep dragging yourself through this every damn day and expect the world to pause for you!"
He turned away, fists clenched.
She exhaled sharply and tossed the notebook onto the bed. "You want to hate him? Fine but just get ready. You're driving me to school."
She walked toward the door, pausing only once to glance back at him. She turned back and left the room.
Kant stood in silence, the notebook still lying on the bed. Rain had started outside again. Quiet. Persistent. Familiar.
Just like Sylan used to be.