Jay — POV
Peace had always felt different for me.
People talked about peace as if it came with warmth, laughter, and someone waiting at the door when you came home late.
Mine never looked like that.
My peace had been quiet.
It had been small.
It had been something I learned to build carefully, with my own hands, after losing everything that once felt permanent.
I lived alone.
In a small apartment on the fourth floor of an old building that smelled faintly of dust, damp walls, and the tea someone always boiled too strong on the first floor.
I had no parents.
Not anymore.
Not in any way that still mattered in my present.
There were no voices that called my name from another room.
No footsteps that followed me down the hallway.
No familiar presence waiting on the other side of the door.
Only me.
And the silence I had slowly learned to live with.
My mornings always began gently.
My alarm vibrated beside my pillow instead of ringing loudly.
I had set it that way long ago.
Sudden sounds made my chest tighten.
I reached for my phone without opening my eyes.
6:10 a.m.
Too early.
It was always too early.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling above my bed.
A thin crack ran across it.
I had watched it grow over the years.
Quietly.
Patiently.
Like time itself.
"Five more minutes," I whispered to no one.
There was no one to disagree with me.
So I stayed.
Then, slowly, I pushed myself up.
The room welcomed me the way it always did.
A narrow bed pressed against the wall.
A small study table near the window.
Two plants I kept forgetting to water.
A cupboard with one door that never closed properly.
And a mirror with a broken corner that cut a tiny triangle out of my reflection.
I tied my hair into a loose ponytail and walked into the kitchen.
The light flickered before it came alive.
I frowned at it.
"Please don't stop working today."
The bulb stayed on.
I smiled faintly.
It was enough.
Water boiled on the stove while I leaned against the counter, watching the street through the narrow window.
The city had already woken up.
People hurried past.
Auto horns echoed.
Someone argued loudly over the phone.
Life moved around me without ever noticing how carefully I stood inside it.
I poured my tea into my favorite cup.
No sugar.
I had stopped liking sweet things long ago.
They reminded me too much of things that disappeared easily.
My phone buzzed.
A reminder appeared on the screen.
Psychology lecture – 8:00 a.m.
I exhaled softly.
College had become my anchor.
The only place where my name was spoken every day.
Where attendance meant presence.
Where someone would notice if my seat remained empty.
I carried my cup to the small table and opened my notebook.
The cover had bent edges.
The pages inside were filled with neat handwriting and small corrections.
On the very first page, written carefully in black ink, was my name.
Jay.
Only that.
No surname.
I had never felt the need to write more.
I finished my tea and washed the cup immediately.
I liked order.
Not because I was disciplined.
But because disorder felt too loud when I lived alone.
I picked up my bag.
Then stopped.
Something heavy settled quietly in my chest.
It was not fear.
It was not sadness.
It was only a strange feeling I could never quite explain.
"Get a grip, Jay," I murmured.
My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
I faced the mirror.
Adjusted my collar.
Smoothed my hair.
My eyes looked normal.
Not tired enough to worry.
Not bright enough to celebrate.
Just… steady.
"You're doing fine," I whispered to my reflection.
The girl in the mirror stared back at me.
I locked the door.
Once.
Then again.
Some habits never disappeared, no matter how peaceful life became.
The hallway outside was dim and narrow.
The light near the stairs still did not work.
My footsteps echoed softly as I walked down from the fourth floor.
Third.
Second.
First.
At the entrance, Mrs. Rao from the second floor stood beside her plants.
She lifted her head when she noticed me.
"Oh, Jay."
She smiled warmly.
"You were leaving early again."
"Yes, aunty," I replied.
"Morning lecture."
She nodded knowingly.
"You studied too much, dear. Don't forget to live also."
I smiled politely.
"I'll try."
She meant well.
Everyone always did.
But no one ever truly knew what living looked like for someone who had learned survival first.
Outside, the air felt warm and slightly heavy.
I walked toward the bus stop, my bag resting against my side.
The road remained crowded as usual.
The city never waited for people who moved slowly.
I leaned against the metal pole near the shelter.
A boy nearby spoke loudly on his phone.
Two girls behind me argued about assignments.
A couple laughed about something I could not hear.
So much noise surrounded me.
And yet, I felt invisible inside it.
My phone buzzed again.
An unknown number.
I frowned.
For a second, I considered ignoring it.
But curiosity always won when life stayed too quiet.
Hi. Is this Jay?
My heart slowed.
Then skipped once.
Yes, it was.
But I did not type that.
Yes. Who is this?
The typing dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Sorry. I think I got the wrong number.
I let out a breath I had not realized I was holding.
Okay.
I replied simply and locked my phone.
The bus arrived with a loud hiss.
People rushed forward.
I climbed in carefully and took the window seat.
The glass felt cool against my temple.
The city slipped past me.
Stores.
Signals.
Faces.
Movement everywhere.
I watched it all without really seeing any of it.
College appeared after twenty minutes.
The familiar gate.
The sleepy guard.
The long building that carried more anxiety than dreams.
Inside the corridor, students rushed past me.
Some greeted each other loudly.
Some complained about deadlines.
Some flirted.
Some walked silently, just like me.
I entered my classroom and took my usual seat near the window.
Second row.
Left side.
The curtain moved gently in the breeze.
A girl slid into the seat beside me.
"Hey, Jay."
"Hi."
"You looked sleepy today."
I shrugged.
"It was a long night."
She laughed softly.
"Same. This semester was killing me."
I smiled.
Small.
Safe.
Neutral.
The professor entered.
The room settled.
Books opened.
Pens clicked.
The lecture began.
Words floated through the room.
Stress.
Cognition.
Memory.
Trauma.
Resilience.
I wrote them down neatly.
Carefully.
As if organizing words could somehow organize life too.
Halfway through the lecture, my phone vibrated.
Once.
Then again.
I hesitated.
Then glanced at the screen beneath the table.
The same unknown number.
A new message waited.
I'm sorry. I didn't actually get the wrong number.
My breath faltered.
Just slightly.
I should not have replied.
I knew that.
Still, my fingers moved.
Then why did you text me?
The reply took longer this time.
Because I wasn't sure if I should.
Something about that line felt honest.
Unpolished.
Human.
About what?
The typing dots stayed longer now.
Finally, the message appeared.
Because I had been meaning to talk to you for a while.
My chest tightened.
The lecture faded into background noise.
The scratching of pens.
The soft voice of the professor.
The shuffle of pages.
My entire attention narrowed to a glowing screen.
Did I know you?
Another pause.
Not yet.
A quiet laugh escaped my lips.
That wasn't very comforting.
The dots appeared again.
I wasn't trying to scare you, Jay.
My fingers froze.
My name.
On someone else's phone.
How did you know my name?
The reply arrived slowly.
Deliberately.
Because you dropped your student ID a lot.
My body stiffened.
My hand moved instinctively to my bag.
I opened it.
My wallet was there.
My ID was still inside.
Safe.
You noticed me before?
I typed.
My heartbeat was no longer calm.
It was alert.
Focused.
More times than you thought.
The bell rang suddenly.
Sharp and loud.
Students stood.
Chairs scraped.
Voices filled the room.
The professor closed his book.
I remained seated for one moment longer.
My phone felt heavy in my hand.
Who were you?
I typed.
The reply arrived just as I stood up.
Someone who finally found the courage to say hello.
I stared at the screen.
And for the first time in a very long while…
My peaceful life no longer felt completely still.
It had not broken.
It had not shattered.
It had simply shifted.
Quietly.
Gently.
Like a door opening inside a room I never knew had existed.
The message stayed on my screen longer than it should have.
Someone who finally found the courage to say hello.
I slipped my phone back into my bag before I could think too much about it.
Thinking had always been dangerous for me.
It made quiet things loud.
It made simple moments complicated.
I walked out of the classroom with the rest of the students, letting their voices cover the strange, unsettled feeling in my chest.
The corridor was crowded.
Someone bumped into my shoulder.
"Sorry," a boy muttered without stopping.
"It's okay," I replied automatically.
My next class passed without leaving any real memory behind.
Notes.
Slides.
Another professor's voice blending into the noise of my mind.
By the time the final bell rang, my head felt heavy and slow.
The kind of tired that settled deeper than muscles.
I packed my bag quietly.
The girl who usually sat beside me leaned over.
"Jay, are you coming to the library?"
I shook my head.
"I can't today."
She frowned. "Again?"
I smiled softly.
"I have work."
"Oh."
Her expression changed immediately.
Not judgment.
Just understanding.
"That's right… you work every evening, right?"
"Yes."
She hesitated.
"Take care, okay?"
"You too."
I meant it.
I always did.
Outside, the campus looked brighter than I felt.
Groups of students gathered near the gate.
Some planned movies.
Some argued about food.
Some complained about assignments they had not even started.
I passed them quietly.
The bus stop waited for me like it always did.
Patient.
Unmoving.
The ride to work took longer than the ride to college.
Different route.
Different crowd.
Different kind of tired faces.
I stood near the door, holding the rail as the bus swayed through traffic.
A man beside me spoke loudly into his phone.
A woman scolded her child.
Someone laughed behind me.
Life kept spilling everywhere.
And I kept walking through it silently.
My workplace was a small café tucked between a mobile shop and a stationery store.
Not pretty.
Not trendy.
Just busy enough to survive.
The nameboard outside had faded letters.
The glass door always made a soft creaking sound when it opened.
I pushed it open.
The familiar smell of coffee and warm bread wrapped around me immediately.
From behind the counter, my manager looked up.
"Jay, you're early today."
"Last class ended a little sooner," I replied.
He nodded.
"Good. We're short-staffed."
Of course.
We always were.
I tied my apron and walked behind the counter.
The café was half full.
Two college boys occupied the corner table.
A woman typed furiously on her laptop.
An elderly man read the newspaper slowly, sipping his tea like he had all the time in the world.
I liked watching people here.
Not closely.
Just enough to remind myself that everyone carried something unseen.
"Jay, table three," my coworker whispered.
"I'll take it."
I walked to the table.
A couple sat there.
They were probably my age.
Maybe younger.
The girl leaned her head on the boy's shoulder.
They looked up when I reached them.
"What would you like to order?" I asked gently.
The boy glanced at the menu.
"Two cold coffees. One with extra sugar."
I nodded.
"And you?"
The girl smiled at me.
"The same."
I wrote it down.
"Two cold coffees. One with extra sugar."
When I turned back toward the counter, something tightened in my chest.
Not jealousy.
Not longing.
Just a quiet reminder.
Some people lived with shared warmth.
Some people learned to survive on their own.
I prepared the drinks carefully.
The way I did everything.
Slow.
Precise.
Because mistakes here cost money.
And money was something I could never afford to lose.
As I placed the cups on the tray, my coworker leaned closer.
"You look tired today."
I smiled.
"College."
She sighed.
"And work."
"And life."
She laughed softly.
"True."
I carried the tray to the table.
"Here you go," I said.
The girl looked up.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Simple words.
Small exchanges.
They never knew how much those tiny moments mattered to me.
They reminded me that I existed.
That I was seen.
Even if only for the time it took to serve coffee.
The café slowly grew busier as evening approached.
Orders piled up.
The machine hissed constantly.
My feet began to ache.
But I did not complain.
I never did.
Around seven in the evening, my phone vibrated inside my apron pocket.
I ignored it.
I was pouring milk.
It vibrated again.
I finished what I was doing and wiped my hands before pulling it out quietly.
The same unknown number.
A new message.
Did your classes end?
I stared at the screen.
For longer than I should have.
I did not know why my heart reacted this way to such a simple question.
I typed slowly.
Yes. I'm at work now.
The reply came faster than I expected.
You work after college?
Yes.
I added, after a second.
I have to.
There was a pause.
Longer than before.
I returned the phone to my pocket and went back to the counter.
Another order.
Another table.
Another smile.
Another "thank you."
By the time I checked my phone again, the message was waiting.
That sounds exhausting.
I leaned against the counter for a brief moment.
Just long enough to breathe.
It's necessary, I typed.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
If you don't mind me asking… why?
I hesitated.
My fingers hovered above the screen.
Some truths were heavy.
But they were also simple.
I pay my own fees.
And my rent.
And everything else.
I sent the message before I could rethink it.
The typing bubbles stayed longer this time.
When the reply finally arrived, it was only one line.
You're stronger than you think, Jay.
My throat tightened.
I hated sentences like that.
Not because they were wrong.
But because people only said them after they saw how tired you were.
I did not reply.
Not immediately.
My manager called from behind.
"Jay, can you restock the fridge?"
"Yes," I answered.
I moved to the back room and opened the refrigerator.
Cold air rushed over my face.
For a moment, I stood there longer than needed.
Just breathing.
Just letting the noise disappear.
I pulled out a fresh box of milk and closed the door.
When I returned to the counter, my phone buzzed again.
One more message.
I didn't mean to make it awkward.
I smiled faintly.
It wasn't awkward.
It was… unexpected.
It's okay, I replied.
I'm just busy right now.
Another quick response followed.
Of course. I won't disturb you.
A pause.
Then one more line.
Have a good shift, Jay.
I stared at the words.
And for reasons I couldn't explain…
They felt warmer than they should have.
Thank you, I typed back.
The rest of the shift passed slowly.
My legs hurt.
My back ached.
But my mind kept drifting back to that quiet conversation hidden inside my pocket.
A stranger.
Someone who noticed me.
Someone who remembered my name.
When my shift finally ended, I untied my apron and hung it behind the counter.
"Good work today," my manager said.
"Thank you."
Outside, the sky had already darkened.
Streetlights reflected softly on the road.
I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and began walking toward the bus stop.
College.
Work.
Bills.
Rent.
Food.
Life.
Everything rested on my own shoulders.
I had accepted that long ago.
But that night…
As my phone vibrated gently in my hand once more…
I realized something had changed.
Not my responsibilities.
Not my reality.
Only this—
For the first time in a long while…
My quiet life no longer felt completely unseen.