Roy walked down the stairs cautiously and entered the kitchen; the sunlight streaming through the curtains painted the room in a soft, golden glow. Amma stood at the stove, her back to him, making roti with the practised ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before. The scent of boiled milk circulated the room, a comforting aroma that should have settled the turmoil in Roy's chest.
It didn't
"Morning," he mumbled, sliding into his usual chair. The table was already set, a neat bowl of roti, milk and sugar waiting for him. Amma turned, her smile warm but tinged with concern.
"Morning, you look tired. Did you sleep okay last night?" Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to read the thoughts he kept locked away from everyone.
"Yeah," Roy lied, drinking and eating. "Just stayed up late, working on something."
When Roy was younger, his mother constantly told him to finish the plate because we should be thankful to have food on our plate because others do not. As a result, Roy developed the habit of always eating everything on the plate that was placed in front of him.
She nodded; she opened her mouth to say something in response, but she shut it and turned around and kept on cooking.
Roy knew she could tell he wasn't being completely honest, but he also knew she wouldn't push, not anymore at least.
As he ate away at his breakfast, the silence stretched between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like there were words waiting to be said.
Finally, Amma broke it.
"Your Nanna and I have been talking," she began cautiously, setting down her coffee mug and turning off the stove. "About how you've been doing lately, we're worried."
Roy stiffened, his spoon freezing mid-air. "I'm fine," he said quickly, too quickly.
Her brow furrowed. "I know you say that, but, Beta, we see how hard it has been on you. It is okay not to be fine. It is okay to ask for help."
Roy's chest tightened. He shoved another spoonful into his mouth, mechanically chewing away at it all while avoiding his mother's eyes.
"I don't need anything," he said finally, his voice quieter now. "I'm handling it just fine."
"You don't have to handle it alone," his mother replied gently. "Dr Nicks mentioned at your last check-up that it's maybe time to adjust your medication to a higher dose. You've been on that dose for a while now and –"
"I'm fine," Roy interrupted, louder than last time. His chair scraped against the floor as he pushed back from the table. "I don't need more pills, these needles and those surgeries, okay? I'm not… broken."
These words were not from our Roy; it was this body speaking. Our Roy was reminded of all the times this Roy went to the hospital.
The words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Amma flinched; that was one of the things Roy did not intend to do, but she didn't back down.
"You're not broken, Roy," she said softly, standing and moving to his side. "But you're hurting, and we just want to help you, heal you. That's all the medication is for – to help you. It is not a fix, nor a cure. Just a support."
"If we can talk, we can help you."
Roy clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The storm in his chest threatened to spill over, but he bit it back, swallowing the lump in his throat. He couldn't explain to her what he was feeling—the weight of memories that didn't belong to this life, the scars that went deeper than skin.
This body was acting on its own, but it wasn't at the same time.
"I need to get ready for school," he muttered, brushing past her before she could say anything.
He wanted to apologise for brushing against her, but he couldn't go back and say it; he didn't know why, but he knew he couldn't.
As he retreated to his room, the guilt followed him, clinging like a shadow. He knew his mother meant well, and he hadn't seen her in a long time, but how could she understand?
How could anyone?
For Roy is alone, but what if he told someone?
He does not know.
Roy grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, forcing himself to take a deep breath. The conversation with his mother still weighed on him, her words replaying in his mind like an echo he couldn't shake. He stepped out of his room and stopped and looked to his left, at his little sister's closed door.
He then carried on and went downstairs, avoiding her gaze as he made his way to the front door.
"Roy", she called softly from the kitchen, but he didn't stop.
He slung the bag over his shoulders. His eyes flicked to the mirror on the wall as he passed, catching his own reflection. Dark circles framed his eyes, and his usually sharp expression seemed dulled, worn.
You're not broken, Roy. he repeated to himself, but it wasn't for him; it was for his body. The words felt hollow, like trying to convince a mirror of something it couldn't reflect.
"Gonna be late," he said quickly, his voice clipped. Before she could respond, he opened the door and stepped outside, the cool morning air biting at his skin. The world outside was quiet, the neighbourhood still waking up.
The once shining sun and bright atmosphere disappeared; it was now a grey, cloudy outdoor day.
The front door creaked softly as Roy stepped out of the house, the morning air cool and crisp against his skin. The world outside seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside him. Birds chirped from the treetops, and the faint hum of car engines filled the distance.
Roy started walking down the driveway, his footsteps crunching against the gravel. The distant hum of cars on the main road filled the silence, and he focused on it, letting the steady rhythm drown out the noise in his head.
His school was only a few blocks away, but the walk felt longer today, his legs heavy with each step.
As he turned the corner onto the main street, he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window. The boy staring back at him looked ordinary enough – messy black hair, brown skin, a rumpled school uniform, and a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.
But Roy couldn't help but feel like he didn't belong in that reflection. The memories of other lives, other versions of himself, loomed just beneath the surface, threatening to unravel the fragile sense of normalcy he was trying to maintain and act out.
He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the glass. "Just focus," he muttered under his breath. "One step at a time. I need to find answers, at least one."
"Roy!"
The familiar voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Kieran was waiting at the corner, a grin plastered across his face. He stood with his hands in his hoodie pockets, his usual messy hair slightly tamed today.
Roy was shocked to see Kieran again, not the Kieran he knew from the space station nor the Kieran he knew originally from school. But still it was a Kieran, so vastly different from the other two, yet so similar.
This made him happy.
Very happy to know that at least he could have an actual conversation with him, since he couldn't have a proper one back then.
But still he had to act, even though he wanted to jump and hug him right there and then.
"Hey," Roy greeted, his voice steadier now. Seeing Kieran was like taking a deep breath after holding it too long.
"Took you long enough. Thought you were gonna ditch me and go solo," Kieran teased, falling into step beside him.
"Right, because I'd totally abandon my favourite sidekick," Roy shot back, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"Sidekick? Man, please. If anything, you're Robin, and I'm Batman. I mean, look at me; charming, handsome, obviously the main character in a K-drama." Kieran gestured dramatically to himself.
Roy snorted, the banter easing the weight on his chest. "You wish. You've got the charisma of a wet sponge."
"Wow, thanks for that. Love the confidence boost, mate," Kieran replied, clutching his chest like Roy had shot him.
Roy wondered when he and Kieran had a real talk.
It was a long time ago now.
As they walked, the school loomed in the distance, its brick façade bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun.
The streets were alive with other students making their way to class, their chatter blending into a low, buzzing symphony.
Before they reached the traffic light at the next intersection, the traffic signals turned red. Roy and Kieran slowed down their pace, with the occasional car passing in front of them.
A breeze brushed past, ruffling Roy's hair as he stared at the light, lost in thought.
The traffic signals turned green. Kieran started forward confidently, but Roy hesitated. His legs felt like they were rooted to the pavement. A chill ran down his spine, a strange foreboding clutching at his chest.
"Roy?" Kieran called, glancing back. "Are you coming?"
Roy blinked, shaking off the feeling. Just as he stepped forward, he was yanked back; a car sped through the red light, the tyres screeching as it narrowly missed him by inches. He stumbled back, heart pounding in his chest.
"Dude, what the hell?" Kieran shouted at the car, which disappeared down the street without so much as slowing. Then he turned to Roy, eyes wide. "Are you stupid? Why are you crossing on a green light?"
Why are cars waiting at a green light and crossing at a red signal? That doesn't make sense. These are basic concepts that don't make sense.
Then it struck Roy like a train. Although this world was similar to his own, it was different; in this world, green meant stop and red meant go, whereas in his original world, the opposite was true.
Roy nodded, though his legs were trembling. "No, it was just confusing for a second."
Kieran placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. "That was way too close, man. You've got to be careful, but it was totally your fault."
"I know," Roy muttered, his voice quieter now. The eerie sense of foreboding lingered, even as they continued walking.
His mind replayed the moment over and over—the screech of tyres, the rush of air as the car sped past. He couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been on the brink of something inevitable.
"Are you sure you're good?" Kieran asked again, studying Roy's face.
"Yeah," Roy said, forcing a smile. "Guess it just wasn't my time, thanks to you."
They walked in silence for a while, the school drawing nearer with every step. But even as they entered the courtyard and blended into the crowd of students, Roy couldn't shake the feeling that the moment at the traffic light had changed something—as if the threads of fate had frayed ever so slightly.
They reached the school gates, the sound of the morning bell echoing through the courtyard.
As they stepped inside, the noise of the day swallowed them—teachers calling out reminders, lockers slamming, and friends reuniting after the weekend.
The familiar buzz of fluorescent lights greeted him as he entered the classroom. He slid into his seat by the window, third row, letting his bag drop to the floor with a dull thud, and a random classmate was sitting beside him due to the seating plan arrangement. Outside, the sun was climbing higher, and the grey clouds disappeared, its rays glinting off the cars in the parking lot.
This is normal UK weather.