I had a dream of someone slightly smiling at me. I couldn't make out his face clearly, but I could see his happy expression. He said something to me, but I couldn't remember what it was. Maybe it was something important, but it didn't matter anyway. After all, for someone like me to have something important to say feels meaningless. In this world, nothing matters to me, even after that dream. I don’t believe anything significant will happen in my life.
When I woke up, I felt more drained than any human being should. I wondered how some people could be happy about waking up early for school. I washed my face and then looked in the mirror. There was the same reflection: brown hair, violet eyes, and sharp features devoid of emotion. If someone saw me, they might think I was alexithymic, but that’s not true; I just prefer not to show my emotions. I’m a 17-year-old high school student named Ray, attending a prestigious school called TZO, known for its academic rigour. Yet, I find myself at the bottom of my class because I don't focus on grades or graduating. My only goal is to live a peaceful life, free of pain.
After preparing for school, I thought nothing would change in my life. But on that day, things turned out differently than I expected. As I walked to school, I saw children playing and students from my school chatting cheerfully. I was surrounded by people expressing a range of emotions. From a distance, I must have looked odd because I struggled to express myself. But does it matter if humans don't express emotions the way I do? It's simply a matter of choice—nothing else.
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When I entered my classroom, I immediately spotted my desk at the back, near the door. I contemplated this as I sat down. After class, I noticed a man in a huge black coat and a black top hat walking past me. He said, "He is waiting for you." I didn’t understand what he meant, so I brushed it off as the words of a weirdo.
When I got home, my aunt hugged me as if we hadn’t seen each other in years, even though we lived together. Both of my parents died after I was born, but I never knew them well enough to grieve for them.
During dinner, my aunt asked, "How was school?" I answered nonchalantly, "Like always." She continued, "Ray, my dear, you have so much talent and potential. I know how smart and kind you are, so you need to talk to people and be more sociable." She said this with a gentle smile, but I wondered why I needed to talk to people I barely knew.
"Ray, one day I may die," she said. "Until then, I want you to have someone to share your sorrow and grief with—someone who can help you in a dire situation, someone you would call a friend." As she finished talking, I replied casually, "This is the first time something important has come from that brain of yours."
Immediately, two utensils were thrown in my direction, and I swiftly dodged them. My aunt, looking angry, exclaimed, "What did you say, you little brat?" I lowered my head and said, "What I meant was how smart and wise you are." After a brief silence, we started washing the dishes. I told my aunt, "I will consider your suggestion." She suddenly flinched and looked toward me as she pushed her black hair back. She gave me a grateful smile, and her red eyes reflected my face as she said, "Let's hope tomorrow will be good."
