I'm Cassian Hart, starting my first year at college. Today's our orientation day, and I come from a family with a long medical tradition. My grandfather, Mr. Quentin Hart, is well-known around town. My parents, Jessica and Samuel Hart, are loving and kind-hearted folks. They're considered the sweetest couple in Sapphire.

Being their only child, I'm pretty spoiled, but in a good way. Our family's all about medicine; it's like a family tradition. Everyone's either a doctor or has some connection to healthcare. We're sort of known as the 'family of doctors.'

I'm following in their footsteps and studying to be a doctor too. It's not like we're pressured into it; we all genuinely love the field. No one in our family is a slacker when it comes to studying, but it's all because we want to, not because we have to.

The only thing that sets me apart (although I don't really mind) is my hair color—it's saffron, a real attention-grabber. When I was born, everyone expected me to look like my dad, but it turns out I take after my mom more. And then, bam! My hair color shocked everyone—it didn't match anyone else's.

It could've been a whole thing, with my parents questioning things, but my hair color put that to rest pretty quickly. The doctor just said, "Congratulations, he's healthy and beautiful, and he's brought a new color into the world." Dad always remembers that as the best day of his life.

Despite all this, I worked hard and excelled in every class from elementary school through high school. But no matter what I achieve, I can't escape the attention my hair color brings. It's this bright pumpkin-like shade that stands out like a sore thumb. During school events, I'd often get asked to dress up as a carrot—everyone associates me with my hair color.

It's a rare color, especially for hair, and it's just me. Even now, when my parents invite me out for a party, I decline. I can't stand the thought of drawing more attention to my hair. I've never disliked anything so intensely in my life. But it's changed how I see things. I was never much into socializing anyway, so I'm okay with staying home. I've learned to adapt to it all.

As for my days, I spend a lot of time reading books and jotting down notes or working on problems. I'm quite the introvert—I prefer my own company. It's just how I've always been. I like to keep things straightforward and gentle in my approach to life.

Today is a new day, and I woke up early, partly because I couldn't stop thinking about it. The morning breeze nudges my curtains, and I'm already awake, feeling the weight of a sleepless night under my eyes. I don't bother trying to hide it as I head to the bathroom. In the mirror, I see my pale face, saffron hair, and tall, slender frame. No one would guess that I'm actually quite strong—I work out regularly, eat well, and dedicate a lot of time to studying.

I let out a sigh. These are my thoughts and my perspective, not influenced by anyone else's opinions.

After showering, I picked out my usual plain outfit from the closet. It's my go-to choice—I'm not shy, but I don't like people staring at my head, silently wondering about it like it's a sunny-side-up egg. That's why I always grab my cap before heading out.

After tying my shoelaces, I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

"Good morning, Mom," I greeted as I sat down at the breakfast table with my backpack by my side. Mom turned around and smiled. She's what true beauty looks like—always radiant, even after all these years. Her hair is golden, and her eyes sparkle like silver. She complements Dad perfectly; he's blonde with coffee-brown eyes. They're stunning in their contrast, not quite what you'd expect, but captivating nonetheless.

In just a few moments, a freshly made breakfast appeared before me, and she smiled warmly, saying, "Have a great day, my dear." Sitting beside me, she added, "I'm so happy for you. It's your first day of college. Enjoy it and make new friends." I nodded in response. Despite her smile, I sensed a silent sigh—her worry has always been about my social circles. I've never brought anyone home, and that truly concerns her.

Lost in my thoughts, I nodded absentmindedly, my mind preoccupied with thoughts about the new environment ahead. Jessica turned away, and a little while later, Samuel entered. He was as organized as ever; you could search for hours and not find a single flaw in him. He greeted me with a loud pat on the back. "Good morning, son!" he exclaimed energetically. I frowned, momentarily forgetting his usual enthusiasm, which was as vibrant as ever. The vigor he exudes each day makes him seem more like a boxer than a doctor.

"Good morning, Dad," I managed to say with my mouth full of food. I glanced up at him, and he looked over at my mother with a grin that seemed overly enthusiastic, like a teenager in love. It felt strange to me, and I swallowed my food with some difficulty.

"Just like we talked about yesterday, he's not too thrilled about it," my dad said, pointing his finger at me and sharing a laugh with my mom. I sighed at his joke and replied, "Do you even know why you do that? I really don't like it."

He smiled kindly and dropped the teasing. Taking a bite of his bread, he continued, "Listen, this year, bring your friends home. We want to meet the people you hang out with. When we were your age, we had countless friends. We'd go out, explore the city, and enjoy the teenage years." I stayed quiet, and he added, "Look at you, acting like an old man with no one to go out with and come back with."

Before he could say anything else, I finished my breakfast and grabbed my bag, checking its contents one last time. "I don't need them," I stated firmly.

Both of them looked a bit disappointed, and I couldn't bear it. "If I make friends, I promise I'll introduce them to you," I reassured them. Seeing their mood lighten a bit, I felt more relaxed. I headed out, closing the door behind me. There was a bike parked nearby—a gift from my father, I presumed. It was an expensive bike, but I didn't give it a second glance before leaving.

It's a sunny day at the bus stop, bustling with students and office workers. While I'm not big on socializing, I don't mind being around others for a few hours each day. I made sure my hair was covered and wore my mask before stepping onto the bus and taking a seat next to a boy who appeared to be sleeping. I felt relaxed and settled in.

Soon, the bus filled up, and a girl around my age appeared before me. Her dark hair and eyes suited her well, and she was laughing and chatting with her friend nearby. I didn't offer up my seat, not because I lack manners but simply because I didn't feel inclined to. As much as I noticed their hair and eye colors, I wasn't particularly interested in engaging with them.

During a u-turn, the person next to me suddenly grabbed my hand tightly, saying, "I'm sorry, I'm tired." I didn't say anything and just let it be. When his jacket started slipping down, I quickly covered him up, perhaps a reflex of my own insecurities.

When we reached a stop, I hurriedly got off the bus without asking if the person next to me needed to stop there too. It only occurred to me afterward, but I figured the bus driver would let him know. I felt relieved and walked toward the college entrance.