The rest of the school day passed in a fog, every second dragging and yet slipping away. Liewen found himself moving from one class to the next without really being present, his mind locked in the chaos of earlier. His legs carried him automatically, his hands gripping his books like a lifeline. The faint hum of teachers' voices and classmates' chatter barely registered; all he could focus on was the heavy feeling in his chest.
He was still reeling from what had happened in history class. That strange sensation, like something inside him had snapped. The moment when his anger had boiled over—and then, suddenly, it wasn't anger at all. It was something else. Someone else.
Jason's words still echoed in his mind, but they weren't what scared him the most. What scared him was the way he'd lost control, the way the world had shifted around him, leaving him disoriented and small. He hadn't even recognized himself in those moments.
By the time the final bell rang, Liewen was drained. He avoided the crowded hallways, weaving through the side paths he'd memorized over the years. He knew all the quiet corners of the school, the places people rarely went. It wasn't just about avoiding Jason—or the dozens of eyes that seemed to follow him whenever he had a "moment." It was about escaping the feeling of being watched, judged, and defined.
Eventually, he ended up in the far stairwell, where the chipped paint and rusty railings felt almost comforting in their familiarity. Dropping his books onto the step beside him, he sank down and rested his head in his hands.
The silence was a relief, but it didn't last long. His mind raced, replaying every detail of the incident. He could still feel the heat of Jason's gaze, the weight of his words. And then—everything else.
The small hands. The trembling voice that had escaped his throat. The disjointed feeling, as if his body wasn't his own.
What was that?
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. "Get it together," he muttered to himself. But the words sounded hollow, even to him.
A sharp knock on the metal railing broke through his thoughts. He looked up quickly, startled, to see Kian standing in the doorway.
"I knew you'd be here," Kian said, his tone casual but his eyes filled with concern. "You've got a habit of disappearing when things get rough."
Liewen looked away, mumbling, "I'm fine."
Kian stepped closer, leaning against the railing. "Yeah, sure. Because standing up to Jason and then... whatever that was in class—that's totally normal for you."
"I don't want to talk about it," Liewen said, his voice sharper than he intended.
"Okay, fair," Kian replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "But I'm not going to pretend it didn't happen. You were... different. It wasn't just anger, man. It was like you weren't even you."
Liewen flinched, the words hitting too close to the truth he was desperately trying to ignore. "Just drop it, okay? I said I'm fine."
Kian sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, I'll drop it. For now. But you know you don't have to deal with this alone, right? Whatever's going on—I'm here."
Liewen didn't respond. He couldn't. Kian's kindness was like a weight pressing down on him, making it even harder to breathe.
After a long pause, Kian straightened up. "I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said, his tone light but his gaze lingering, as if he was waiting for Liewen to say something. When it became clear he wouldn't, Kian gave a small nod and walked out.
The door clicked shut, and the silence returned.
Liewen leaned back against the wall, his hands trembling. He didn't want to admit it, but Kian's words had shaken something loose inside him. The memory of what had happened in class wasn't just strange—it was terrifying.
And then, faintly, it happened again.
I'm scared.
The voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it wasn't his. It echoed in his mind, fragile and trembling.
Liewen froze, his breath hitching. "Who's there?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
There was no answer. Only the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
The voice didn't speak again, but the feeling lingered—a presence, faint but undeniable.
He stood abruptly, grabbing his books and shoving them under his arm. He couldn't stay here. The walls felt like they were closing in, the air growing heavier with each passing second.
He stepped outside into the afternoon air, the noise of the schoolyard washing over him. Students were scattered across the grounds, laughing, talking, living their normal lives. Liewen felt like a ghost drifting among them, unseen and out of place.
As he walked, his mind raced. The voice had felt so real, but how could that be? He hadn't spoken, and yet...
What is wrong with me?
He kept walking, his pace quickening. He needed to get home, to shut out the world and figure out what was happening to him.
××××
The walk home was uneventful, but Liewen's thoughts were anything but. Every step felt heavier, the world around him growing quieter as his mind filled with noise. By the time he reached the small house he shared with his father, he was exhausted.
His dad wasn't home, which wasn't surprising. Liewen barely saw him these days, their interactions limited to brief exchanges in passing. It was better this way, he told himself. Fewer questions. Fewer opportunities for things to go wrong.
Dumping his bag by the door, he headed straight to his room and shut the door behind him. The familiar space was a mix of comfort and chaos—a bed that was never made, a desk covered in papers and books, a single window overlooking the quiet street below.
He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. The silence was oppressive, but he didn't dare turn on any music or background noise. He needed to think.
The voice had been so clear, so distinct. It wasn't just a stray thought or his imagination playing tricks on him. It had felt real.
But that didn't make sense.
People don't just hear voices.
Liewen ran a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck. His mind replayed the moment in class, the way everything had shifted. The trembling hands. The childlike fear that had taken over.
Was that him?
Or was it... someone else?
His breath hitched, and he stood abruptly, pacing the room. He didn't know what to do with the questions swirling in his head. He felt like he was unraveling, like the world he'd worked so hard to keep together was falling apart piece by piece.
A knock at the door startled him, and he froze.
"Liewen? You alright in there?"
It was his dad's voice, gruff but not unkind.
Liewen hesitated. "Yeah. Just tired."
There was a pause, then a muffled, "Alright. Let me know if you need anything."
The sound of retreating footsteps eased the tension in his chest, and he sank back onto the bed.
He didn't know how much longer he could keep this up. The masks he wore at school, the walls he built around himself—they were all starting to crack.
And the worst part was, he didn't know what he'd find on the other side.
The faint whisper of a voice echoed in his mind, so quiet he almost missed it.
It's going to be okay.
But for the first time, Liewen wasn't sure he believed it.