*Alarm rings*
He opened his tired eyes, groaning on his messy bed as he fumbled for his keypad phone.
"Who was it?" he mumbled, scratching his stomach.
Shiv, who was scratching his stomach, never cared to clean his room. It had stayed that way for the past two months of summer vacation. He had spent his holidays playing forty-five pixel games and sleeping.
Homework? Activities? None of them could catch his attention.
And honestly, he felt no regret. In fact, he was proud.
But today, it would end.
The day he had conveniently forgotten: the first day of school.
Meanwhile, his sister—three years younger—was the absolute opposite of him. She had woken up early, bathed, and was now praying to her goddess of wisdom, Mother Saraswati.
Not only that—she had joined a summer camp, finished her homework, and even spent her vacation improving her skills.
The only thing they had in common?
They were both magnificently introverted.
But while his sister was a picture of perfection, Shiv was… the peeled-off skin of a vegetable. A waste.
*Shiv sneezes.*
"I think someone is badmouthing me. May he die soon…"
Shiv muttered, deadpan, staring at the ceiling as he scratched his ear.
His sister called out for him to get ready for school.
He didn't quite register it.
"Today's a holiday... Summer vacation's still alive," he thought and rolled over.
But a few minutes later, a chill ran down his spine.
A strange tension in the air.
His heart skipped a beat.
And then....
WHACK!!!
A broomstick struck his rear like divine punishment.
The wielder? His mother.
The message? Get. To. School.
Shiv and his sister reached school on time.
It wasn't far—just fifty meters away.
At the gate, his sister ran off to meet her friends.
And him?
He wandered toward the nearby store, hoping to get a coffee. But of course, he didn't have the most essential item—money.
So he quietly drifted away from the bustling shop.
As he walked through the school gates, he saw it again—that prison.
A prison where everyone seemed happy.
And yet, he despised it. What he seeks doesn't lie here.
"When will I be free..."
he muttered.
Just then, a fist smacked the back of his head.
It was Atharv—the same old reckless, egoistic friend who never knew the meaning of 'personal space.' That was his way of saying good morning. Shiv rubbed the spot, sighing, used to this sort of violence at sunrise.
They exchanged no words—just silent tension.
Another joined in.
Same height, different face—Harsh, the "nice guy" friend of Atharv.
The one who pretended to be kind.
Both laughed at Shiv's face.
Shiv ignored both and walked away.
"Bunch of idiotic assholes,"
he thought.
"No need to get angry," he told himself.
"They're just kids going through puberty. Would be unable to even speak with them in a few years anyway."
"I'll ignore it. Like always. Ignore whatever I can."
Their insults, praises, complaints—they are just noises.
Just groups of letters forming no specific meaning.
Love, ego, sadness, joy—all just words.
He tried to treat them that way.
And yet.… sometimes, he still felt them.
"I am not the kindest.
Not the cruelest.
Not the smartest.
Not the dumbest.
Not the strongest.
Not the weakest.
I am just… grey.
Neither black nor white.
The one who bends into everything."
He finished his monologue sitting on the last bench of his classroom.