It was 4:30 in the afternoon. I came back from school, threw my bag next to the door, and went straight to my room without greeting anyone or even looking up. My mom was in the kitchen; I heard her talking on the phone, but I didn't pay attention.
I closed the door behind me, turned the air conditioner to the highest setting, and collapsed onto the bed. I grabbed my phone and immediately opened my anime app. The latest episode of the show I was following (I won't mention the name—it's the one about a guy who can go back in time to fix his mistakes). I pressed play and closed my eyes for a moment.
But I couldn't focus. My mom's words from this morning were still echoing in my head like painful static:
"You've gotten so lazy about your exams and you still haven't studied anything! What is this? You're going to fail and embarrass us in front of everyone!"
I didn't reply to her at the time. I stayed silent, like always. There was a small fire burning inside my chest—if I had answered, I might have said: "I do study, but you don't see it!" or "I'm tired, leave me alone!" But I said nothing. I always stay silent.
I stood up and looked in the mirror. I saw my face: tired eyes, messy hair, an average body. Not ugly, but not the kind of face people respect at first glance. I remembered my elementary school days—I used to play with everyone in the yard, laugh out loud, be in the center of everything. Now? I sit alone during break, or bury my face in my phone.
I imagined a quick scenario: I go back to second year middle school, that day one of the guys said, "Your voice sounds like a girl's," and everyone laughed. In this scenario, I hit back with sharp words that shut him up, everyone claps, and I walk away like a hero. But in reality? I stayed quiet, went home, and cried in the bathroom until my eyes turned red.
The video paused. I heard Noor's voice outside my room, singing a TikTok song loudly. She opened the door without knocking—her usual habit—and said:
"What's this? You still haven't studied? Mom's gonna be really mad if you keep this up."
"Get out," I said quietly.
"Why? I want to see what you're watching."
"I don't want anyone right now."
She left laughing and said, "Okay, Mr. Complicated." I closed the door and returned to the screen. But the focus was gone completely. Instead of finishing the episode, I opened my tablet and went to a manhwa site. I read a few pages of a story where the protagonist takes revenge on everyone who hurt him in school. I felt a temporary relief, like someone put a cold compress on a burning wound.
But after a while, the question came back, spinning in my mind like an endless loop:
If the people who bullied me back then have now become successful or calm or even forgotten everything… and I'm still stuck in the same place… then who's really the problem? Them? Or me?
(End of Chapter 1)