Elias was the kind of boy people forgot in a room.
He wasn't loud, nor troublesome, nor exceptionally gifted—just quiet in ways that made even teachers skip over him during attendance. His home wasn't a place where laughter lived; instead, it echoed with the sound of arguments behind thin walls. His mother worked long hours, his father was mostly gone, and Elias drifted through his days with a loneliness that hollowed him out.
One evening, after another fight shook the house, Elias climbed into bed and clutched the cracked phone that was his only companion. The screen flickered, dim and cold, but it was still better than the world outside his bedroom door.
That night, he whispered,
"I wish I had a place where everything felt… different."