Ray

I wonder when it all started. That slow fading of the sparkle in your eyes, was it the moment the world turned its back and called you invisible? You always sat at the back of the class, bathed in shadow like the universe forgot to paint your corner with color. You wore loneliness like a second skin, not by choice— but because it was the only thing that didn’t mock you. They called your quiet strange, But I saw galaxies trying to speak, drowning beneath stars no one bothered to name. You came home to sharpened voices, their love laced in ridicule, words heavy enough to crush a thousand suns. Still, you never screamed. Never shattered. You let the silence do your crying. In the quiet of your bedroom, your sanctuary from the chaos, you escaped into pixelated skies, where characters never asked you to smile through pain. You didn’t know someone noticed. I caught fragments— stolen glances, The cafeteria echoing with laughter, while you sat in the corner, eyes lowered, world shrinking by the hour. I saw classmates whisper daggers behind your back, heard your parents raise their voices, and then the soft patter of your feet climbing toward your silence. Your window— bled muffled sobs into the night air. I could only stand outside your home, wondering how you carried so much sorrow in a body so small, so brave. My friends told me to stay away. “A weirdo,” they snickered. But they couldn’t see what I did. You— a soul deeper than sapphire, buried beneath years of silence, waiting for someone to uncover the truth shaped by pain. And then one day, I broke. I shattered every chain of silence, stepped out of the noise, and crossed the battlefield between our worlds. You were at that same empty table. I stood in front of you, And you looked up— eyes surprised, like you’d forgotten how to be seen. "I see you,” I whispered. Not to save you. But to remind you— you were never invisible. You were just waiting.