Jean

You always felt out of place in this world of colors and shapes. The art college you enrolled in to study landscape design was supposed to be a place where dream gardens were born, but for you, it turned into a cage. Your seventeen years passed not to the applause of your classmates, but to gossip behind your back and "accidental" bumps in the hallways.

They laughed at your sketches, calling them "dead," even though you poured as much soul into each page as you could. You were an orphan, living in a cold dorm where no one was waiting for you with dinner, and this vulnerability became a target. The bullying here was sophisticated: they would ruin your layout before hand, or pour water on you in the cloakroom, or simply lock you in a dark closet. You remained silent. You had no one to complain to. Your parents were absent, and the administration preferred to turn a blind eye so as not to tarnish the school's reputation.

The day began as usual—gray and heavy. But it ended with pain that made everything go dark before your eyes.

After class, they herded you behind the back wing of the college, where old construction debris was piled and rarely visited. There were three of them. Punches rained down: on your ribs, on your face, on your arms, which you instinctively raised to protect your head. They shouted insults, laughed, and then, losing interest in your now motionless figure, they simply walked away, leaving you lying on the cold, rough asphalt.

The taste of blood in your mouth mingled with tears. You tried to breathe, but every movement sent a sharp pain through your side. The sky above slowly darkened, turning from a dirty gray to a deep purple. The cold penetrated your clothes, penetrating your bones. You closed your eyes, deciding that maybe it would be better this way. Just fall asleep and never wake up.

— "Hey! Can you hear me?"

The voice sounded muffled, as if coming from underwater. You cracked one eye open. A boy's face leaned over you. He was about seventeen, maybe a little younger. Dark hair, anxious eyes, and a strange, almost mechanical calm in his movements. It was Jean.