Still on the ground, Aarav's body trembled, but not from pain alone.
His mind raced through a wave of emotions—yet none of them took form.
Limping toward the lifeless, torn body of the kitten, his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Faster. Faster.
His chest tightened as he reached it. His hands shook as he pulled down his mask, and—
—he vomited.
Turning to the side, his stomach twisted violently, rejecting everything inside.
But it wasn't from disgust. No, it wasn't just the gruesome sight before him. It was something else.
Something deeper.
Something unknown.
Still struggling, still gasping through the weight in his chest, he forced himself to move. The pain in his ankle sent sharp jolts through his body, but he ignored it.
Somehow—somehow—he managed to drag himself forward.
With trembling hands, he wrapped the kitten's tiny, ruined body in a cloth.
He didn't know why.
He didn't even know what to do.
He just knew he had to do something.
His fingers found the cold metal of the shovel. His grip tightened.
And then, he walked.
One step. Pain.
Another step. More pain.
But the pain on his face wasn't from his ankle anymore.
"This is normal, isn't it?"
His voice barely broke the silence.
"This is just how the world works."
His mind grasped at something—anything—to explain it.
The strong devour the weak. Survival of the fittest.
He kept repeating it, over and over, like a mantra.
As if saying it enough times would make it true.
As if it would dull the sharp, unbearable ache clawing at his insides.
And yet—
As he dug, and dug, and dug—
His face held nothing.
No grief. No anger.
Just emptiness.
Aarav's steps were slow, almost mechanical, as he walked.
He didn't feel late. He didn't feel rushed.
He didn't feel anything.
His eyes drifted back to the small patch of dirt where he had buried Gurro.
Something about it gnawed at him, as if a part of him had been left behind with the tiny corpse. He didn't know what—just that something was missing.
His gaze fell to his hands.
Blood.
It was still there, staining his fingers, clinging to the creases of his skin.
He stared at it for a second longer than he should have. He should feel something. Disgust, regret, maybe even sadness.
But he felt nothing.
He kept walking.
The house was silent when he entered. Without thinking, he went straight to the bathroom.
The water ran over his hands, turning red as it swirled down the drain. He scrubbed his palms, but his eyes never lifted to meet his reflection. He didn't check the dried blood on the left side of his face.
It didn't matter.
His body was here, moving through the motions.
But he wasn't.
As he headed for the door, his mother's voice cut through the silence.
"I told you to let that kitten be. You separated it from its mother!"
Aarav didn't stop. He didn't even flinch.
Her eyes caught his face then—bruised, bloodied.
"What happened to your face? Another injury? And your leg—you injured it!"
Her voice wavered between anger and sadness. "Why do you keep doing this if you're not made for it? Ha?!"
Aarav didn't answer. He barely acknowledged her.
There was nothing on his face. No resentment. No guilt. Not even frustration. Just emptiness.
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as she tried to hold herself together.
"How do you think I'm paying for you two alone after your father...?
Her voice cracked.
"The cattery isn't doing well. Your father's pension isn't enough. I pay for your sister's school. And you—your expenses are too much. I—I don't know how I can even take you to a doctor..."
Silence.
Aarav looked at her then, his gaze distant, hollow.
She stopped.
Something in his expression made her words die in her throat.
He turned away and kept walking.
As he stepped outside, the cold air met his skin, and finally, the pain returned.
His ankle throbbed. His muscles ached.
And yet, somehow, it still hurt less than whatever he had been feeling before.
Aarav limped toward the bus stop, his ankle throbbing with every step. The cold morning air pressed against his skin, but he barely noticed it. His hands—he looked down at them—still stained with blood, still slightly wet. He rubbed them against his jeans absentmindedly. It didn't matter.
The bus arrived with a screech, its doors groaning open. He stepped in, moving past people without glancing at them. Taking a seat near the window, he rested his head against the glass, staring at nothing.
As the bus rumbled forward, his thoughts turned inward.
He wanted to laugh.
A bitter, hollow laugh.
Everything that had just happened—it was ridiculous. The burial, the blood, his mother's words, his own silence. All of it.
But he didn't.
Not here. Not in front of all these people.
His thoughts twisted.
Doctor, huh?
"When was the last time you actually cared?"
His fingers curled into a fist on his lap.
"Just because you pay for us doesn't mean you care about how I feel. You never ask, do you, Mother? Never once. Not how I feel. Not what I want to do."
His jaw clenched.
"If even my own mother doesn't care, what can I expect from anyone else?"
Nothing.
People don't care unless you matter—unless you have something to offer. A skill. A talent. A purpose.
But I have nothing.
His teeth gritted.
"It's not fucking fair."
He wasn't a kid anymore.
Soon, he'd graduate. And then? Nothing. No job, no future. Just another nameless, useless nobody.
"If only that fool of a mother had given me a course that actually mattered. A skill. Something useful. But no—I had to do a degree."
His nails dug into his palms.
No one cared.
Not his mother. Not his teachers. Not the world.
But then—
A flicker of something else.
Golden eyes.
His face twitched.
Gurro.
The small weight in his hands, the quiet presence beside him. The only thing that ever seemed to notice him. The only thing that made him feel like he wasn't completely invisible.
His chest tightened, and for a moment, his face wavered.
Anger. Grief. Confusion.
And something else he couldn't name.
The bus moved forward, but he felt like he was still standing there, staring at the little mound of dirt.
Like something was missing.
Something he couldn't get back.
One night—not too long ago. Maybe three weeks?
I was lying on the cold cement rooftop, staring at the sky. The stars were clear that night, scattered like tiny specks of light against the endless dark. It was peaceful. My mind, for once, was quiet.
And in that silence, I thought.
Do I even matter?
I felt like a failure. Like an existence so insignificant that if I disappeared, nothing would change. The world would go on. People would keep moving.
But I was still me.
So I stood up. Started walking.
Laps and laps around the rooftop, thinking. What can I do? What's next? Is there anything?
Nothing.
The wind bit at my skin, but the real cold wasn't outside—it was inside. A hollowness. A cold that wasn't of the body, but of the soul.
Then, a sound.
A tiny, fragile mew.
I turned toward it. A kitten—so small, so delicate—standing just a few steps away. Its golden eyes reflected the dim rooftop light.
I moved toward it, and it stepped back. Hesitant.
But when I knelt and reached out, it let me touch it. My fingers brushed over its soft fur. It purred.
For the first time that night, the silence wasn't suffocating.
I stood up and started walking again, but it followed me. I accidentally stepped on it a couple of times—it was getting annoying. When I sat down on a chair, it jumped onto my lap. Before I realized it, it had curled up inside my coat.
I don't know if it was alone or just chasing warmth.
Or maybe... I was the one who needed it.
That warmth—of someone, anyone—staying by my side.
And that was the one thing.
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. That's what was missing.
Tears welled up, unexpected, unstoppable. They rolled down his face, dripping onto his hands.
He turned away, hiding his face, trying to find a space where no one could see him.
But the tears didn't stop.
And for the first time in a long time... he didn't want them to.