"If that's what you meant, why didn't you just say it from the beginning?"
The voice echoed in a place that felt both close and distant, like a memory trapped inside water.
Another voice answered immediately.
"**Because talking to you is useless, *."
A pause.
Then a loud, confused, angry sound burst through the silence.
"UH? WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY THAT?!"
The words came out half-shouted, half-broken, as if the speaker had been caught between rage and disbelief.
The second voice didn't raise its tone.
It stayed cold.
Direct.
"You understood perfectly."
For a moment nothing moved.
The air in that memory felt heavy.
Blurry shapes shifted like shadows through fog.
And in the middle of that fog there was a figure.
A boy.
The vision wasn't clear, but certain details pushed through the blur. He had glasses that reflected a faint light. His eyes were blue—soft, almost gentle in contrast with the tension around him. His hair was messy, thick, with two blonde streaks that fell like careless brush strokes through the darker strands.
He stood there, unmoving.
Watching.
Listening.
Then his voice came out quietly, almost carefully, as if he had been thinking about the sentence for a long time.
"Tell me, ***… do you never change because you're afraid of changing… or are you afraid—"
"**Are you okay, *?"
The memory shattered.
The voice that replaced it was softer.
Real.
Female.
The boy blinked.
The classroom slowly returned around him.
Desks.
Chairs.
Light coming through the windows.
And in front of him stood Adele.
She tilted her head slightly, studying his face with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
"Sorry?" he said quickly.
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I… wasn't listening."
Adele crossed her arms loosely, leaning against the desk beside him.
"I noticed," she said.
Her eyes scanned his face more carefully now.
"You look… lost."
He forced a small smile.
"What do you mean?"
She hesitated, trying to find the right words.
"It's just… strange."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"You look like someone who's here… but also not here."
He didn't respond.
Adele continued watching him.
"You know when you see someone after they've been awake for too long?" she said slowly. "Or when someone hasn't eaten for days?"
He shrugged faintly.
"Well… it's not exactly that," she said.
Her eyes lingered on the dark circles under his eyes.
"Your face looks calm… but not in a healthy way."
She gestured vaguely toward him.
"It's like the calm of someone who stopped reacting."
Her expression turned thoughtful.
"You're breathing, talking, sitting here like everyone else…"
She paused.
"But your eyes look like they're somewhere else."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"Like you're already tired of being alive."
The boy looked down at the desk.
For a moment he opened his mouth.
"I want to kil—"
Then—
A sentence echoed inside his mind.
Don't cry for me.
The words arrived quietly, but they stopped everything.
The boy blinked.
And then suddenly he laughed.
"Ah."
He rubbed his eyes casually.
"Sorry."
He leaned back in the chair.
"School's just messing with my sleep schedule."
He stretched his arms slightly.
"I haven't been sleeping well. My brain probably forgot how to cooperate with the concept of rest."
Adele kept staring at him.
Her eyes narrowed just a little.
Not aggressively.
Just… carefully.
Like someone who had the strange feeling that a puzzle piece didn't quite fit where it was supposed to.
"Right," she said slowly.
The silence stretched between them.
Then she sighed lightly and pushed herself away from the desk.
"Well… I should go."
She picked up her bag.
"Someone's waiting for me."
She walked a few steps away.
Then turned slightly.
"Try to sleep tonight, okay?"
And then she left the classroom.
Just like that.
Gone.
The door closed softly behind her.
The boy stayed where he was.
For a few seconds he didn't move.
Then he repeated her words quietly.
"Someone's waiting for me."
He stared at the empty space where she had been standing.
"Someone… who wants me."
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
But it wasn't a happy one.
"People who care about you are a gift," he murmured slowly.
His fingers traced the edge of the desk absentmindedly.
"They're warm."
He looked toward the window.
"They make the world feel less empty."
His voice grew softer.
"But only for a while."
He leaned back in the chair.
Because when those people leave…
the gift changes shape.
The warmth disappears.
And what remains isn't comfort.
It's memory.
"And memories are strange things," he whispered.
"They don't disappear when people do."
He looked down at his hands.
"They stay."
His fingers tightened slightly.
"They stay when the person is gone."
They stay when the conversations stop.
They stay when the laughter disappears.
They stay when the door closes for the last time.
And suddenly…
the gift becomes something heavier.
Because now you're alone.
Completely alone.
And the only thing left is the echo of someone who once stood next to you.
Someone who once cared.
Someone who once made the world feel a little less quiet.
His eyes remained fixed on the desk.
"And now," he murmured,
"you're the only one left remembering them."