Chapter 2: The Quiet Ones

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm blaring at full volume, like a relentless reminder that the world expected me to keep going, to keep performing. I groaned and reached out to hit snooze, but instead of the usual mechanical routine of pushing the button and rolling back into bed, my hand hovered for a moment.

I stared at the ceiling, the same boring white plaster that I'd looked at a thousand times before. I could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, the distant murmur of city life just beginning to wake up. The world outside was already busy—already running. But inside my head? Inside my chest? I was still standing at the edge of something I couldn't quite name. Something unsettled. Something missing.

I sighed, finally shutting off the alarm and sitting up. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the heaviness that had settled in overnight. I didn't know what it was, but ever since yesterday, it had felt like I was walking around with a weight I couldn't explain. It wasn't physical—it was the kind of feeling that gnawed at your insides when you spent too much time thinking about who you really were when no one was watching.

But the world didn't stop for questions like that. Life went on. School would still be there, people would still expect me to be me, and I'd still need to put on the act. I'd fall back into my usual role, because that's what people wanted. It's what I was good at. I knew how to smile, how to crack a joke, how to make the awkward silence disappear.

I got dressed quickly, pulling on my uniform with the same mechanical motions I'd done hundreds of times. I didn't even think about it anymore. The tie went on, the shirt tucked in, the jacket buttoned without a second glance. It was all just… routine.

By the time I was downstairs, Mom was already in the kitchen, humming to herself as she made breakfast. The smell of eggs and toast filled the air, comforting in its predictability. Dad was reading the newspaper at the table, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. They both greeted me with their usual cheer, like nothing had changed. Like I hadn't spent the entire night thinking about how I was starting to feel like a stranger in my own life.

"Good morning, sweetie," Mom said with that bright, hopeful smile of hers. "You ready for another busy day?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, automatically. My voice sounded flat to me, but I wasn't sure if anyone else noticed. Did they ever notice?

I didn't wait for more conversation. I grabbed a piece of toast and stuffed it into my mouth, knowing full well I wouldn't actually eat it. It was just something to do, another way to keep the routine going. To keep everything normal. Or at least, to keep it appearing normal.