In the stillness of the night, an ambulance sped through the deserted city streets. The piercing sound of its siren was the only sign of life amidst the quiet. Inside, a young woman in the throes of labor lay on a narrow stretcher, accompanied by her anxious husband. Two nurses worked frantically to manage the increasingly critical situation.
The small space was filled with the sharp scent of antiseptics mixed with sweat, punctuated by the woman's pained moans. Her face was pale, beads of sweat cascading down as she gripped her husband's hand tightly.
"Just a little more, Ma'am. You can do this," one nurse encouraged, her voice firm yet gentle.
Her husband leaned closer, whispering softly into her ear. "Stay strong, love. I'm here with you." His words were soothing, but his eyes betrayed the depth of his fear.
The other nurse kept an eye on the blood pressure monitor and heart rate of the mother. Her face grew increasingly tense as she read the results. "Her blood pressure is dropping fast," she warned her colleague, panic creeping into her tone.
The woman winced, the pain growing unbearable. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to endure the agony coursing through her body. Her breaths came in short, labored gasps.
"Hold on, Ma'am. The baby is almost here," said the nurse seated beside her, trying to provide some comfort.
But then, a chilling silence fell as the baby's heartbeat on the monitor began to weaken. One of the nurses quickly adjusted the medical equipment, trying to stabilize the situation.
"There's no more time! We need to speed this up," she exclaimed, glancing at the husband. "Stay calm, sir. Pray for your wife to stay strong."
The woman's cries grew louder. Her eyes opened slightly, meeting her husband's with a mix of love and fear. "Revan…" she whispered faintly, her voice barely audible.
Her husband frowned. "What, love?"
"His name… Revan Kylo," she murmured with the last of her strength. A faint smile graced her lips even as her body grew weaker.
Moments later, a new life entered the world, but no sound followed. No cries of a newborn broke the heavy silence. Only the soft hum of the ambulance and the wail of the siren filled the air.
One of the nurses looked at the newborn boy. He was stunningly beautiful, with piercing green-blue eyes and flawless pale skin. But there was no cry—no sound. His eyes were open, gazing unblinkingly at the ambulance's ceiling as if absorbing the silence around him.
"Why… why isn't he crying?" the husband's voice quivered with fear.
The nurse examined the baby carefully, finding nothing wrong. "He's healthy, but… this isn't normal," she murmured, perplexed.
The young woman offered a faint smile before her eyes slowly closed. Her breathing stopped entirely, leaving the small space enveloped in a deeper silence.
"Ma'am! Stay with us!" the nurse exclaimed, her hands trembling as she checked the pulse. But it was too late. The woman had passed.
In the cramped confines of the ambulance, the man froze, his tears streaming down his face. He clutched his wife's now lifeless hand, overwhelmed by the weight of his loss, while the newborn in the nurse's arms stared silently, his expression unchanging.
The man's voice trembled as he placed a shaking hand on the nurse's shoulder. "Please, please… save my wife."
"I'm sorry, sir. There's nothing more we can do," the nurse replied softly, her voice filled with regret.
Hearing this, his hands slowly fell limp, and he sank into the cold metal chair, his eyes hollow and his tears relentless.
"Revan Kylo…" the man whispered, his voice cracking as he looked at the baby. His emotions were a storm—anger, hatred, and sorrow intermingled. He was furious that the baby had cost his wife her life. He despised the child's silence, which seemed to mock the tragedy that had unfolded. Yet, at the same time, he felt a faint spark of love, knowing this was his flesh and blood.
After the cries and anguish subsided, one of the nurses gently tapped his shoulder. "Sir, I'm sorry. We've arrived."
The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the hospital. The nurses quickly prepared to carry the lifeless young woman inside. The sound of stretcher wheels screeching against the hospital floor echoed through the empty corridors. The man followed behind, his steps heavy, his eyes swollen, and his body drained of all strength.
In the nurse's arms, the baby remained silent. No cries, no gestures of discomfort—only the calm gaze of his green-blue eyes as if he bore witness to the tragedy without understanding it.
"Sir, we need to run some tests on the baby," a doctor said, motioning for the nurse to hand over the child.
The man nodded weakly. But before the baby was taken, his gaze locked onto the tiny face. His heart churned with conflicting emotions. Part of him wanted to love the child as his own, but the other part could not forgive the grief the baby had unwittingly caused.
The next day, a light drizzle fell from the gray sky. The man stood before a freshly dug grave, holding an umbrella in one hand while the other clenched tightly, suppressing the surge of emotions within.
The nurse who had cared for Revan stood not far from him, carefully cradling the infant.
"Sir, your baby is healthy," the nurse said cautiously, trying to offer some solace despite the grim atmosphere.
"He didn't cry. Not like other babies," the man murmured softly, almost as if speaking to himself. His vacant gaze pierced through the fine rain.
"This baby is special. Sometimes God gives us something different," the nurse replied, attempting to console him. "He is a blessing."
But the man remained unmoved. After the funeral was over, he asked for Revan to be handed to him. His gaze was cold as he took the baby, but there was a faint hint of tenderness at his fingertips as he touched the infant's small face for the first time.
"I'm sorry, my love. I can't raise our baby," he muttered quietly, as though passing a sentence.
A few days after the funeral, the man walked toward a small, old orphanage. The building looked shabby, with peeling paint scattered across its walls. In his arms, the baby wrapped in a thick blanket lay motionless. The child's eyes remained calm, devoid of tears or any excessive movement.
The door to the orphanage was opened by an older woman named Mrs. Ratna, her face showing signs of weariness. She was startled to see the man standing there holding a baby.
"Good morning. How can I help you?" she asked formally.
The man bowed his head slightly, then handed the baby over without preamble. "This child's name is Revan Kylo. I can't take care of him. His mother passed away after giving birth."
Mrs. Ratna raised her eyebrows at the baby. "Sir, this is your own child, isn't it? How can you just give him up like this?"
The man sighed deeply, looking at Mrs. Ratna with conflicted eyes. "He… brings bad luck. I don't want anything to do with him anymore."
Mrs. Ratna's face darkened. She looked at the baby with an expression that was hard to decipher—a mix of indifference and reluctance. Still, she accepted the baby, albeit with stiff movements. "Alright, we'll take care of him," she said, her voice tinged with a cold tone.
The man said nothing more. With heavy steps, he turned and left, abandoning the child without looking back.
Revan's first day at the orphanage was met with rejection. The baby was placed in a small storage room behind the main building—a cramped space with minimal light. The room was usually used to store unused items. Now, it became the place for a child no one wanted.
"That child… is so strange. No wonder his father abandoned him," one of the caregivers commented as they gathered in the kitchen. "He doesn't cry at all. Those eyes… they're too cold for a baby."
"Mrs. Ratna, why don't we just transfer him to another orphanage?" a young caregiver whispered hesitantly.
Mrs. Ratna shook her head firmly. "No. No other orphanage would accept a child like him. We'll just keep him in the storage room. Make sure he doesn't show up too often around the other children."
From that moment on, Revan grew up in solitude. In the dim and gloomy storage room, he slept on an old, thin mattress. The wooden walls around him creaked with every gust of wind. Yet, the baby never cried or showed discomfort. He simply lay there, staring blankly at the ceiling or into the dark corners of the room.
Two years later, when Revan began to crawl and walk, the other children at the orphanage started to notice him with fear. They whispered about him behind his back, spreading stories that he was a cursed child.
"That kid lives in the storage room because he brings bad luck," one child said to a friend. "If you go near him, you'll get cursed!"
"He's like a living doll," another added in a hushed tone. "No expression on his face. So creepy."
Revan's life carried on, unnoticed and uncared for. Even Mrs. Ratna, who was supposed to be his caregiver, rarely checked on him. The food and clothes he received were minimal, given out of obligation rather than genuine concern.
One night, as heavy rain poured down, the sound of thunder echoed through the storage room where Revan stayed. The other children in the orphanage took refuge in their cozier rooms, while Revan sat alone in the corner of the storage room. Rainwater began to seep in through the wooden cracks, wetting the floor around him. Yet, Revan didn't move. He just sat there, silently watching the rain through the small, blurry window.
There was no fear, no tears. Only silence enveloped the child.
But behind his seemingly vacant eyes, something was growing—a consciousness of the loneliness that had begun to haunt him. The world had never given him a place, even since the moment he was born. Though his body was small, his heart began to feel wounds he couldn't understand.
Why am i here?