Nicolai's feet hit the cracked pavement in an almost mechanical rhythm. With every step, the weight of the world seemed to press down just a little harder. The streets were empty, save for the occasional cat that slinked across the road or the distant hum of a passing car. Night had fallen, and it cast long shadows along the narrow alleys. The air seemed heavy, holding something in, but he did not mind that. The silence was familiar-comforting, almost.
He turned the corner and saw the sign of the convenience store. It was a place he had been a million times before; he went there for one reason only: instant noodles and bottled water. Cheap, simple, and quick. That was his routine. Just like everything else in his life, it was predictable.
When Nicolai entered, the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, injecting the store with an artificial buzz that felt somewhat incongruous against the stillness of night outside. Aisles were thinly populated with goods, and the perpetual aroma of stale chips and cheap cleaning products hung in the air. The cashier-a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and tired-looking eyes-greeted Nicolai with a nod.
Evening," the cashier muttered, his gaze already straying back to the small television behind him, where a news report on some celebrity wedding was playing.
Nicolai did not react. Never. He did not care about speaking. People were annoying. They wanted to know what had happened; they kept giving him that commiserating glance, that awful, you're a little kid; can't anyone help you do something for you? No, nobody seemed to grasp the reality of his state, which is he didn't care for someone taking care of him.
He picked up his usual, the few packs of noodles and one bottle of water, and sat them on the counter. The cashier did not even look up as he rung up the total. Nicolai fished out his last few bills and slid them across the counter. The cashier's hand extended to take the money, only to freeze.
Your parents still sending you money?" the cashier asked, his voice casual but edged with something like curiosity.
Nicolai didn't answer. He never did.
"They're still in the States, right?" the cashier pressed.
Nicolai clenched his jaw. He could feel the familiar heat of frustration building in his chest. Why can't people just leave me alone? He wanted to scream it, but he didn't. Instead, he muttered a short "Yeah" and grabbed his bag, turning sharply to leave.
"Alright, kid. Take care." The cashier's voice trailed off as Nicolai stepped out into the night.
He hated the pity in people's voices. It made him sound like some sort of tragedy, like a broken thing that needed fixing. But his life hadn't ever been a tragedy. It was just. empty.
He didn't need them. Not his mother, who had gone to the Philippines years ago to marry some other man and start a new family. Nor his father, who had emigrated to the United States and sent money home every month but never inquired how Nicolai was doing or whether he needed something. Their absence was constant, but it was also strangely comforting.
They had given him everything material—money, a home, clothes, food. But they had never given him what mattered most: love, attention, connection. So Nicolai had learned to fill the emptiness himself. He worked small jobs, never relying on them for anything. His independence was his shield. And when he couldn't fill the void, he drowned it out with silence. The quiet was his constant companion.
But tonight, for reasons he couldn't explain, the stillness of the night felt different. The air seemed charged, like the world was holding its breath. As Nicolai walked down the street, his footsteps slowing slightly, he felt a strange tug inside him, an urge to look up. He didn't know why.
And then he saw it.
There was a streak of light across the sky. Initially, it was quite faint, a shooting star with a trail; it didn't fade. It pulsed, shimmered with each passing second, growing brighter and more vivid. Nicolai came to a dead stop, his heart racing in his chest. He had never seen anything like it.
He stood there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the strange phenomenon above. It was as if the night sky had cracked open, spilling its contents out in the form of a dazzling display of colors. Greens, blues, purples—each one a burst of brilliance that danced across the heavens like something alive. The lights shifted, weaving in and out of each other, forming patterns that made no sense yet felt impossibly beautiful.
He took a slow, unsteady step forward, catching his breath in his throat. He didn't know why, but something about the light was drawing him in. It was as if it were calling to him, pulling him closer, making him forget everything else. The weight of his loneliness, the bitterness that always lingered in his chest—it all seemed to fade away as the lights filled his vision.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. The world, the city, the aching emptiness that had always followed him—it all dissolved into nothingness. All that mattered was the light.
He reached out a hand instinctively as if to touch it, to hold it in his palm. His fingers brushed through the air in front of him, quivering with anticipation.
And then he heard it.
It was the sound of tires skidding across the road, a harsh, shrill screech that broke through the stillness like a scream. Nicolai turned his head, but it was too late.
A car. A rushing, speeding car. Its headlights were blinding, too bright to be real, too bright to be anything but an oncoming disaster. He didn't have time to react, didn't have time to step back or run.
The impact hit him like a tidal wave.
His body slammed into the windshield, his vision filled with a burst of white light. His limbs flailed in the air, the world spinning around him in a chaotic blur. He felt the ground beneath him give way as he was thrown through the air, weightless for a fleeting moment before everything came crashing down.
And then, darkness.
It wasn't the kind of darkness that was filled with fear or pain. No. It was a void, a deep, hollow space where nothing existed. No thoughts. No sounds. Just. nothing.
For a long time, Nicolai stayed there, suspended in that nothingness, unaware of the world around him.
But then, slowly, like the faintest whisper from the depths of his mind, something began to stir.
A flicker. A shimmer. A distant glow.
The lights.
In the darkness, Nicolai could still see them. They were calling to him again. But this time, he wasn't just watching. This time, he was drawn in, pulled towards them, towards the light that promised something he couldn't yet understand.