I glance sideways at him but say nothing. The sunglasses make it impossible to tell if he’s even looking at me. Still, I feel the weight of his eyes scanning my face.
I let out a short breath, trying to push the heat rising in my chest back down. “Of course I sleep,” I mutter, more defensive than I mean to sound. And much more clipped than I would have liked.
“You have a fondness for lying,” he says, maddeningly calm.
I recoil slightly, caught off guard. My instinct is to argue, to deny the accusation. But every time I open my mouth to say something, I find myself unable to force any words out.
I look away, jaw tight.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” he says suddenly.
The question punches the breath out of my lungs.
I stare. “From what?”
The silence stretches too long, long enough that I almost think he didn’t hear me.
But I know he did.
Yet he makes no move to elaborate.
I sigh, biting down the rising frustration. “Is this how you talk to everyone, or am I just special?”
“If it comforts you to believe you’re special, by all means—believe it.” He says flatly, not missing a beat.
And I don’t flinch.
I don’t roll my eyes or shoot back some sarcastic reply.
Instead, I almost nod.
Because he’s right.
Of course he’s right.
Some people just aren’t built to be noticed. Some of us are made for the quiet parts of the world. The overlooked, the in-between. Not remarkable. Not radiant. Just… there.
A background character in someone else’s story.
I’d come to terms with that a while ago.
A few years back, I even wrote a little guide on how to survive being alone. Just for myself. It was small—fit right in my jacket pocket. I filled it with notes, reminders, things I told myself on bad days.
I used to carry it everywhere. And then one day, it was gone.
I don’t remember much—just coming home from school and reaching into my bag to find it wasn’t there anymore.
I sigh and glance back at Kai, but he’s completely still.
He’s staring straight ahead again, posture slack, hand resting loosely on his trousers. And yet there’s somethingtoostill about him. Something unnaturally quiet. Absent.
Like a statue left on a moving bus.
Like watching someone fall asleep with their eyes open.
A strange chill travels up my spine, and I look away again.
The silence doesn’t feel heavy this time, I notice.
