The sky was a flat, unyielding gray, pressing down on the narrow streets as if it could crush the world beneath it. She walked alone, the rhythm of her shoes against the cracked pavement a hollow echo in the quiet morning. Every step felt heavier than the last, like the ground itself was conspiring to slow her down.
The houses on either side were mute witnesses—windows like tired eyes, doors that never opened, walls that held nothing but the memory of people who had long stopped noticing her. She pulled her jacket tighter around herself, not for warmth, but to feel something solid, something she could hold onto when everything else seemed to slip through her fingers.
The wind whispered through the bare trees, carrying the faint scent of damp concrete and exhaust fumes. She imagined it was trying to speak to her, but all she could hear was the emptiness behind its voice. Passing the corner store, the neon sign flickered weakly, a reminder that some things were still alive, though barely.
She thought about school—the fluorescent lights, the murmurs in the hallways, the way everyone seemed to exist in a different world, one she was never invited to. Her bag felt impossibly heavy on her shoulder, as if it carried not just books, but the weight of every indifferent glance, every whispered insult, every day she had spent unnoticed.
A car splashed through a puddle, soaking her shoes, and she let it happen. Nothing mattered enough to fight against it. She kept walking, staring at the ground, imagining the cracks in the sidewalk were the only paths she could ever follow.
By the time she reached the school gates, her hands were numb, her jacket damp, and her chest tight with the quiet ache of existing. She stepped inside, and the noise swallowed her whole. Laughter, shouting, footsteps—all a blur she could not touch. She found a corner, a space small enough to disappear into, and sat, counting the seconds until the day would be over, wondering if anyone would notice she was there at all.