The classroom buzzed with chatter, but for Lorien Vale , the noise might as well have been silence. He sat in the last row by the window, a half–finished sketch on the corner of his notebook. His long, pale hair fell into his face, shielding the bright blue eyes that no one ever seemed to notice. Eighteen years of life, and he had perfected the art of being invisible—not because he wanted to, but because the world seemed determined to erase him.
It wasn't that people hated him outright. It was worse.
They forgot him.
"Hey, Marcus, pass me the notes," a girl called, brushing past Lorien's desk. Her sleeve knocked his pencil to the floor. She didn't stop. Didn't even look at him.
Lorien bent, picked it up, and tried not to feel the ache in his chest.
Every day was the same. Marcus Hale, golden boy of the class, laughed too loudly with his friends, Ryan Carter and Evelyn Brooks, while teachers fawned over his perfect scores and perfect smile. Lorien could've shouted, screamed, even bled in front of them, and still no one would have turned their head.
Except when they did.
When they wanted someone to mock.
"Oi, Ghost Boy," Ryan snickered as he passed Lorien's desk. "Still drawing your imaginary friends?" He plucked the notebook away and flipped through the pages. Sketches of castles, dragons, and faceless figures spilled across the paper. "Man, this is creepy. What are you, five?"
Marcus smirked. Evelyn pretended not to watch but whispered something behind her palm. The classroom's laughter rose like smoke.
Lorien didn't answer. He never did. If he spoke, they would only laugh harder. If he fought back, they'd remind him that no one would ever take his side.
Because he was no one.
---
The day dragged. Lunch was lonelier still—he ate under the old oak tree behind the gym, where the shadows stretched long and the wind carried whispers that didn't belong. Sometimes he thought the world itself pitied him more than people did.
He tore his sandwich into pieces, feeding a stray bird. Its small black eyes met his, unafraid, as though it saw something others couldn't.
Lotien sighed. "At least you don't ignore me."
The bird tilted its head, almost as if it understood.
And then it happened.
That pull.
It began as a weight in his chest, sharp and demanding. Not pain, not fear, but a tug—like an invisible thread tightening around his ribs, drawing him somewhere else. His hand clenched at his shirt as his vision blurred. For a moment, the school grounds dissolved, replaced by shadows and the faint echo of wings.
He gasped.
And just as quickly, it was gone. The world snapped back into place.
The sandwich lay forgotten on the grass.
Lorien sat frozen, the taste of iron in his mouth. No one had noticed—of course no one had. The students nearby walked past without sparing him a glance. But inside, something had shifted.
He wasn't just invisible.
He didn't belong here.
---
By the time the last bell rang, the pull had returned—stronger. Walking home through the narrow streets, he felt it like a heartbeat beneath his own, urging him toward something unseen. The city blurred; the people on the sidewalks looked hazy, their voices fading into muffled echoes.
Lorien's footsteps carried him beyond the familiar path, down alleys he'd never walked before. His pulse raced, fear tangled with curiosity.
And then—
A mirror.
Not a normal one. It stood abandoned between two crumbling buildings, taller than him, framed with twisting patterns of silver and black. Dust clung to its surface, but when he looked, the reflection staring back wasn't his own.
The boy in the glass had the same long pale hair, the same ocean–blue eyes—but sharper, brighter, alive in a way Lorien never had been.
The reflection smiled.
Lorien stumbled back, his breath caught in his throat.
"What…"
He blinked. The mirror was gone. Just bricks and shadow.
But the pull hadn't vanished. It thrummed louder than ever, whispering of a place beyond Earth, a place where he would no longer be invisible.
---
That night, lying in bed, he traced the cracks on his ceiling with tired eyes. His chest still burned with the memory of the pull. He thought of Marcus's laughter, Ryan's jeers, Evelyn's whispers. He thought of the bird, the only creature that had met his gaze.
I wonder if anyone even remembers my name. Day after day, I walk the same halls, sit in the same classrooms, breathe the same air as everyone else… yet it feels like I'm a ghost wearing skin. Maybe that's easier for them—to pretend I'm not there, to push their laughter and insults at me without consequence, because what does it matter if the target is invisible? Sometimes I want to scream, to claw at my own throat just to prove I exist, but the sound dies before it can ever leave me.
And yet, beneath the weight of this silence, there's something else—something I can't explain. A pull. A current beneath the skin of this dull life, tugging at me, whispering that I don't belong here, that I'm meant for something beyond these walls and their suffocating shadows. It's not hope, not exactly. More like a restless ache, a thread tightening around my chest with each passing day. I don't know where it leads, only that it's growing stronger… and soon, I won't be able to ignore it anymore.
And he thought of the reflection in the mirror—smiling, waiting.
The world he knew had never wanted him.
But maybe… another world did.