The door closed behind *** with a dull, tired sound.
For a moment he stayed still in the entrance.
The house was quiet, but not the peaceful kind of quiet. It was the heavy kind, the one that sits in the air like something unfinished.
The light inside was dim. The curtains were half closed, letting thin lines of evening sunlight fall across the floor.
*** slipped off his shoes slowly.
His body felt heavier than usual, like the day had added extra weight to his bones.
He took a step forward.
Then another.
And that was when he noticed her.
His mother stood in the living room.
Or at least… a figure stood there.
Every time *** looked at her face, something strange happened. It was as if his eyes refused to focus properly. Her outline was clear enough to recognize — the posture, the shape of her hair, the way her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.
But her face…
Her face always felt blurred.
Like trying to look at someone through fogged glass.
"***."
Her voice cut through the silence.
"You're late."
*** didn't answer.
He simply stood there.
The woman held something in her hand.
A piece of paper.
She lifted it slightly.
"I spoke to your teacher today."
***'s eyes drifted toward the floor.
The tiles had small scratches on them.
He focused on one of them.
"You didn't get a ten in this subject."
The paper shook slightly as she moved it.
"Explain that to me."
*** nodded once.
Slowly.
The movement was small, almost automatic.
The woman waited.
Seconds passed.
Then she spoke again.
"…Are you even listening to me?"
For a moment *** didn't respond.
His mind had wandered somewhere else again.
Then suddenly he blinked, like someone waking up.
"…Please."
His voice sounded tired.
"I'm exhausted."
The room changed instantly.
The air tightened.
The woman moved forward quickly.
Her hand grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.
"You're exhausted?"
Her voice was sharp now.
"You think you get to be exhausted?"
She shook him slightly.
"Do you want to end up like your brother?!"
Something snapped.
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't dramatic.
Just a small fracture inside ***'s chest.
His hand moved before he fully realized it.
THUD.
His fist connected with her face.
The sound echoed in the room.
She stumbled back slightly.
***'s breathing was heavy now.
His eyes burned with something that had been buried for years.
"Don't talk about him like that."
His voice shook.
"Don't talk about him like where he is now isn't your fault."
Silence exploded in the room.
Neither of them moved.
Then *** turned around.
He didn't wait for her to respond.
He walked down the hallway.
Each step sounded louder than the last.
His bedroom door opened.
Then closed behind him.
—
The room was darker than the rest of the house.
The air inside felt still, untouched.
*** stood there for a moment.
His eyes slowly moved across the walls.
Then they landed on the desk.
There was a photo frame sitting there.
He walked closer.
Picked it up.
The picture showed two boys.
One of them younger.
Thin.
Serious.
The other taller.
Blonde.
Grinning confidently with an arm around the younger boy's shoulders.
Cristian.
And ***.
The past looked strangely warm inside that photograph.
*** stared at it for a long time.
Then his voice broke the silence.
"I hate seeing a genius next to a finished genius."
The sentence sounded bitter.
Like something he had been thinking for years.
His fingers tightened around the frame.
Then suddenly—
He threw it.
The photo flew across the room and hit the wall.
Right below a football jersey hanging there.
White fabric.
The number 10 printed clearly on the back.
The frame fell to the floor with a sharp crack.
Glass scattered across the wood.
*** stared at it for a moment.
Then he slowly sat down on the edge of the bed.
His hands trembled slightly.
The room felt smaller now.
Tighter.
Like the walls had moved closer.
After a few seconds he leaned forward.
Then slowly lowered himself to the floor.
And crawled under the bed.
The space was dark.
Dust clung to the wooden slats above him.
The floor felt cold against his cheek.
He curled his body slightly.
Like a child hiding from something too big to understand.
Outside the room the house was quiet again.
But inside ***'s chest, the noise never stopped.
Not even in the dark.