I've always thought that if people could see inside me, they'd see a mess. A tangled, ugly knot of fear, anxiety, and all the useless things I've collected over seventeen years of failure. But no one sees inside me. They only see what's on the outside: a fat, awkward boy with no fight in him, San Kurdmann, the loser who's good for nothing except test scores and homework.
That's what I'm known for. Being the guy you sit next to if you want to cheat off someone. The guy whose shoulder you shove on your way to class, whose lunch you take if you feel like it. I'm a human punching bag, and I'm not even tough enough to push back. The worst part? I'm kind of used to it now.
It's not like anyone expects much from me. Definitely not the teachers—they're happy with my answers on exams, but they don't care that I barely speak. They see "smart kid," and that's all. Not the quiet, introverted mess I really am. And definitely not my classmates, who treat me like I'm invisible until they need something. And especially not Rahand. My brother.
Rahand's different. He's everything I'm not. Tall, athletic, confident, and cool. People part like the Red Sea when he walks by, girls giggle in the hallways, and even the teachers give him a wide berth. His hair is always perfect—jet black and slick—and his eyes…they could cut through steel. He doesn't need to speak much because his presence does the talking. He's the king of the school, and I'm… well, I'm nothing.
I don't even know why he bothers talking to me at home. It's like living in someone else's shadow, except the shadow feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. It would be easier if he was a jerk to me, honestly. But he's not. He just doesn't care. Sometimes, I wish he would notice that I exist, that maybe he'd step in when things get bad at school. But Rahand's world is separate from mine, and I don't belong in it.
"San, move," someone mutters as I'm shoved against the lockers, my textbooks spilling onto the floor. I don't even look to see who it is. It's the same routine every day.
I scramble to pick them up, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks, praying no one's watching too closely. But, of course, they are. A crowd forms. Like vultures.
"Fat boy's at it again," one of them sneers.
I keep my head down. I don't respond. I never do. I can't. I'm not like Rahand, who would stare them down and make them shrink under his gaze. I'm San, the school's punching bag. And that's just how it is.
By the time I've gathered my things, my shirt's soaked with sweat, and the bell's ringing. Great. Another day of walking into class late, where people stare at me like I've just walked out of a dumpster. I slide into my seat at the back, away from the stares and the whispers, and try to disappear.
At least I have my friends. If you can call them that.
In class, it's not much better. I sit in the back, my head down, trying to make myself as invisible as possible. But my size makes that impossible. I'm a target. The teacher drones on about something—I'm listening, of course, because I'm good at that. If there's one thing I can count on, it's that I'll always understand the lesson, always have the right answers. But that doesn't matter to anyone. My brain isn't a shield. It doesn't protect me from the whispers, the insults, the mocking.
I glance over at my friends. There are six of them, each with their own problems, each bullied for reasons as ridiculous as mine. There's Acheron, tall but awkward, his mythological name doing nothing to hide the fact that he's clumsy and shy. Then there's Phaeron, with his pale skin and eerie quietness, like he's always somewhere else in his mind. He's strange, so naturally, he's an easy target. Zephyros, the fastest of us all, but no one cares about speed when you've got a lisp.
Orion's the dreamer, always lost in his fantasies of another world, far away from here. He gets teased for being "weird" because he'd rather talk about stars than sports. Thalor, the smallest and most fragile-looking, always keeps his head down, avoiding eye contact. And then there's Korrin, the strong one, or at least he would be if anyone could see past his stutter. We're all misfits in our own ways, but together, we find some sort of sad comfort.
That doesn't stop the bullying, though. It only makes us easier targets—seven boys with mythic names, legendary only in our failures.
But even with them, I feel like I don't belong. They're all struggling, but at least they know who they are. I just… let things happen. Because that's what I deserve, right? To be the weak one, the fat one, the one who can't even stand up for himself and his friends.
Lunch is the worst part of the day. It's the time where everyone's true colors come out. I sit with the others, picking at the food on my tray, pretending not to notice the snickers from the popular kids at the next table. Rahand's there, too, with his crowd of athletes and girls who can't get enough of him. I sneak a glance at him, hoping for… I don't even know what. Some acknowledgment? Some sign that I exist in his world, too?
Nothing. He's as stone-faced as ever, not even talking to his friends, like i know i don't exist but what about them?
"Hey, San," someone says from behind me, and I know what's coming. My heart sinks. "You mind doing my math homework? I suck at that stuff."
I nod because what else am I going to do? Say no? That'd just make things worse.
At least if I help them, they'll leave me alone for the rest of the day. Maybe.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of classes I barely register and insults I've grown numb to. By the time the final bell rings, I'm exhausted, not from the schoolwork but from existing.
As I walk home with Rahand, like we do every day, I wonder what it must be like to be him. To walk down the halls and feel like you belong. To be respected. To be feared. I can't even imagine it. He doesn't say much, just glances at me once, and I wonder if he sees it, too. How miserable I am. How small I feel compared to him.
But, as usual, he says nothing, and I don't have the courage to bring it up.
Instead, I just keep walking, dragging my feet, dreading tomorrow when the whole cycle will start again.
San trudged through the front door, feeling the weight of the day still clinging to his shoulders. The familiar warmth of home greeted him, but it didn't wash away the bitterness left from school. The house smelled like cinnamon and something baking in the oven—his mother's comfort, wrapped in pastry.
"San! Rahand!" His mother's voice echoed from the kitchen, full of joy and energy as always. "Come here, my boys, give your mother some love!"
San smiled weakly, already feeling lighter just hearing her voice. His mother, Leyla, was the heart of their family. Small and round, with a face full of life and warmth, she had a laugh that could shake the walls. And she loved San more than anything in the world. To her, San was perfect, no matter how much the world made him feel like he was nothing.
He approached the kitchen, and as expected, his mother greeted him with wide, open arms. Her kiss landed on his forehead, and he leaned into the embrace. It was the only time he ever felt truly safe.
"And Rahand, come here too!" she called, already knowing her eldest at school would hesitate. Rahand, standing behind San, glanced sideways, as if debating whether to avoid the affection. But even Rahand, with all his kingly attitude, couldn't refuse their mother. Because everyone knew—you don't refuse Leyla Kurdmann when she asks for a kiss. There'd be hell to pay if you did.
With an exaggerated sigh, Rahand leaned down and let her kiss his cheek. Leyla smiled triumphantly, patting both of her sons as if they were still her little boys, which to her, they always would be.
San lingered there for a moment, basking in his mother's attention, before his father stepped into view. Azad Kurdmann was a tall, solid man with a weathered face and rough hands—hands that showed years of hard work. His eyes, though tired, were kind. He wasn't a man of many words, but when he did speak, it was always with wisdom and patience. To everyone around him, he was the perfect father, the perfect husband. But there was something about him, something San couldn't quite figure out.
They had moved from their homeland years ago, to Germany, but no one ever explained why. Whenever San asked about it, his father would simply offer a quiet smile and change the subject. His past remained a mystery, but in the present, he was steadfast and dependable.
"Good to see you home," Azad said with a slight nod toward his sons before disappearing into his study, the way he often did after work.
San moved toward the living room, where the rumbling sound of heavy snoring filled the air. Sprawled across the couch was Sahand, his 30-year-old brother. Sahand was a sight to behold—190 cm tall with broad shoulders and a body that looked like it had been carved from stone. He was the embodiment of physical perfection, handsome and strong. If Rahand was the king of the school, Sahand was the emperor of the family. But Sahand, for all his imposing presence, spent most of his time sleeping. His snores were like thunder, shaking the walls as he dozed through the afternoon, completely at peace with the world.
San chuckled to himself. How someone so powerful could spend so much time unconscious was beyond him.
He turned toward the last room at the end of the hall, where Edgar, the eldest of the Kurdmann siblings, lived. Edgar was 33, and unlike Sahand or Rahand, he didn't seem to care about his appearance anymore. He was fat, like San, but he wore it differently. Confident, carefree, Edgar had long stopped worrying about what anyone thought. He worked at a construction site, his strength apparent even beneath the layers of extra weight. There was a time when Edgar had been the most handsome of all the brothers—more so than Rahand and Sahand combined. But those days were long gone, and Edgar seemed perfectly content with who he was now.
San exchanged a few words with his eldest brother, who was lounging on his bed, a faint smile on his face as he nodded off again after a long day at work. Edgar was always like that—strong but relaxed, as if nothing could bother him.
After a quick dinner with his family, San retreated to his room. He flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling, the familiar thoughts swirling in his mind. *I wish things could be different,* he thought. *I wish I could change. Be someone else.*
He sighed and rolled over, glancing out the window. That's when he saw it—a brand-new gym, just across the street. The large, shiny sign glowed in the twilight, and for a moment, something stirred in San's chest.
*Maybe…* he thought, but before the idea could fully form, his eyes grew heavy. Exhaustion from the day's events pulled him under, and soon enough, sleep claimed him.