The alarm rang at five thirty in the morning.
He turned it off without opening his eyes.
The room was small and quiet. The ceiling fan made a low rattling sound as it spun. The paint on the ceiling had peeled in several places. He had told himself many times that he would fix it one day. But that day never came.
He lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling.
His body felt heavy. His arms felt tired even though the day had not started yet. He wanted to stay in bed. He wanted to pretend that today was a weekend. But he knew better.
He sat up slowly and placed his feet on the floor.
The cold traveled up his legs.
On the small table beside his bed were several envelopes. He did not need to open them to know what they were. Rent. Electricity. Hospital bills for his mother. A loan message he had been avoiding for weeks.
He stood up and went to the bathroom.
The mirror showed a man in his early thirties who looked older than he should. His eyes were dull. Dark circles sat beneath them. His hair was unkempt, and his face looked tired no matter how much he washed it.
He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and got dressed in a plain shirt and trousers. They were clean but worn. The collar had lost its shape long ago.
By six thirty, he left the apartment.
The hallway lights were broken again. The elevator did not work, as usual. He took the stairs down, counting each step without realizing it. Outside, the street was already busy. Cars passed by. People walked quickly, each heading toward their own lives.
He blended into the crowd.
The bus ride to school took almost an hour. It was crowded, hot, and loud. He stood the entire way, holding onto a metal bar while messages from his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He did not check them.
When he arrived at the school, the building looked the same as always. Old walls. Faded paint. A cracked signboard at the entrance. He passed through the gate and greeted the security guard, who barely nodded back.
Inside, the staff room was noisy.
A few teachers chatted about weekend plans. Others complained about students. Someone laughed loudly. He took his seat at the corner table and placed his bag down. No one spoke to him. No one noticed him.
At eight sharp, the bell rang.
He walked into his classroom.
The students were already there, but most of them were not paying attention. Some talked loudly. Some were on their phones. A few had their heads on their desks.
"Good morning," he said.
Only two students replied.
He wrote the topic for the day on the board and began teaching. His voice was calm and steady. He explained the lesson step by step, the same way he always did.
Halfway through, a student at the back laughed loudly.
Another student made a joke.
The class erupted in noise.
"Quiet," he said.
The noise lowered but did not stop. A few students glanced at him, then went back to what they were doing. He continued teaching anyway.
This had become normal.
By the time the class ended, his throat was dry. His head hurt. The next class was not any better. Or the one after that.
At noon, he sat alone during lunch.
He opened the food container he brought from home. Plain rice. No meat. He ate slowly, scrolling through his phone. A message notification appeared.
Loan Office: Final reminder. Failure to pay will result in further action.
He locked his phone.
After school, the students left quickly. The noise faded. The building became quiet. He stayed behind to grade papers. The fluorescent light above him flickered. His eyes burned as he read through careless answers and unfinished work.
By the time he packed his things, the sky outside had already darkened.
He walked out of the school alone.
The bus ride home was quieter. He sat by the window this time, watching the city pass by. Tall buildings. Bright signs. People laughing outside restaurants. Everything looked distant, like it belonged to another world.
He got off a few stops early. Walking helped him think better.
As he walked past a narrow street, her noticed a small crowd ahead. Two men were arguing loudly. While the third man was lying on the ground, his shirt dyed red with his blood.
No one stepped forward. Some were mumbling among themselves, some taking videos and photos of what is happening without bothering to step forward... Others just decided to watch in silence.
He hesitated. He knew he should walk away. It was none of his business, he had no strength for trouble. But his feet moved on his own, even before he could react.
"Call the ambulance."
He said as he walked over to the injured man.
One of the men turned to him. "It is none of your business!"
The argument escalated quickly. Shouting turned into shoving and before they knew it, one of the men pulled something sharp.
Before he could react, everything happened at once.
Pain exploded in his chest. The world tilted and he fell backwards, hitting the ground hard.
Sounds started to blur, voices became distant. Someone screamed while another ran. He tried to breathe but breathing felt wrong, his chest felt tight like something was pressing against it from the inside.
Darkness crept into his vision.
Then—
Thump
A deep sensation spread through his body.
It did not feel like pain... Instead, it felt more of a heartbeat.
Thump
His heart raced, but this was different. This rhythm did not match his heartbeat. It was slower. Heavier.
Thump.
Warmth spread through his veins.
The pain faded.
His vision cleared.
He gasped and sat up suddenly.
People stared at him in shock. The blood on his shirt was gone, same with the wound on his chest.
Someone whispered... "What the fuck?"