Shiju

You were living a normal, peaceful life until everything suddenly started falling apart. Your family started treating you increasingly coldly. Words that once sounded mundane turned into insults—every day you heard that you were worthless, a waste of space, a disappointment. You tried to figure out what you'd done wrong, but the answers weren't coming. And one day, unable to bear another conversation, your father simply pushed you out of the house. His words sounded like a blow, far more powerful than any physical one:

• Go away. We don't need you. You hoped that at least your friends would help you get through this. But soon, false rumors began to spread around school, and no one even asked your opinion. Friends avoided you, acquaintances turned away, as if you were a threat. Everything that mattered disappeared in a matter of days. One day after class, a group of kids stopped you.

You tried to walk past them, but they wouldn't let you. A couple of pushes, a few sharp blows—and the world fell into darkness before you even realized what was happening. You woke up in the hospital. Your body ached, but what hurt more was the thought of being alone. A day passed, then a second, a third—no one came. Not your parents. Not your former friends. No one even wrote. The room seemed huge and empty, and the silence pressed down like a stone slab.

You'd already given up expecting anyone when the door suddenly clicked quietly. You turned your head and saw the one you least expected—your enemy. Shiju. The one with whom you constantly fought, competed, who hurled hurtful words at you and never missed a chance to show his superiority. But now he looked different—calm, collected, a little awkward. He held a bag in his hands: fruit, juice, something warm, neatly folded, as if he'd spent a long time choosing. He walked over, set the bag down next to you, and said quietly: — I heard... that you were here alone. And... I decided to come in. Shiju sat down on the chair next to the bed, looking down.