First Luka.
I was watching them — the children's names etched in the corner of the sleepers' ward — from the room, filled with elements both visible and hidden.
But his misplaced madness… my heart pounded, my chest tightened.
Why do I feel sorrow? Why do his tears sting me?
This isn't just a scene I'm watching… I feel it, as if it were mine.
When he cried and told his sister, "We're alone now…" those words came from my mouth.
His tears burned my eyes, even though I wasn't crying... or perhaps I chose not to.
It was as if I had always been there.
From Lucas's Perspective
It's been three years since that night. I'm nine now.Three years since I lost my mother.Three years since I became a ghost.Three years since I held Mia's hand and promised we wouldn't break.
But I'm not the same boy who cried on the stairs.Or at least, that's what I told myself.
And Dad?He talked to us, lived under the same roof… but each of us was in a separate world.
Mia became everything.Her laugh alone could brighten an entire day.
That afternoon, after school, I came home with Mia and Mark — my best friend, classmate, and our neighbor. His mother often helped take care of Mia and me. He was more like a brother than a friend.
It was the midterm break."You got first place again, didn't you?" Mia said, annoyed.
"Of course. He's a bookworm," Mark teased.
"Right. Not like the guy who came dead last, huh?" I said, smirking at him.
Mark's face turned red. "At least I wasn't last this time…"
We all burst out laughing.
Then Mia glanced toward the twilight sky and warned, "Aunt Mary's going to smack you when you get home."
"Can I stay over tonight?" he asked, almost pleading.
Mia looked at him, then smiled playfully. "Of course."
But before Mark could breathe easy, a voice snapped from behind —"And where do you think you're going, Mr. Mark?"
A woman grabbed him by the ear.
"Ow-ow-ow! That hurts!"
"Good evening, Aunt Mary!" Mia and I said in unison, laughing.
Aunt Mary dragged Mark away, and Mia and I continued home, still giggling.
When we reached the front door, the house was calm — the same familiar scent of old coffee and books, the quiet coldness that lingered even in warm weather.
I took off my shoes at the entrance, dropped my bag by the wall, and turned to Mia.
"I'll go show Dad my results. Head upstairs — I'll join you soon."
The evening had settled in. Dim lights filled the house.
Downstairs, behind a wooden door, my father sat in his study.
The room was tidy but suffocating.The bitterness still hung in the air, the rhythmic clicking of the keyboard tapping like a heartbeat of emptiness.
He didn't answer when I knocked.
"Come in," he said, without looking up.
I stepped inside quietly, holding my report card in one hand, my bag still slung over my shoulder. I stood in front of his desk, waiting.
"Dad…" I said softly.
No response.
"It's midterm results."
He glanced up briefly, then returned to his screen. "Leave it on the desk. I'll check it later."
No smile. No praise.Just a nod back to his monitor.
"Alright…"
I turned and walked out, closing the door behind me.The sound was soft… yet it shattered something deeper than feelings.
That was the moment I gave up.Or maybe… a part of me did.
"There's no point trying anymore…" I whispered.
But inside, I knew…I wasn't angry. I wasn't sad.I was empty.
A void called "a father's love" —and no matter how hard I tried, how much I smiled, I could never fill it.
I grew up.Changed.
I got stronger. Faster.I trained in Taekwondo with discipline.
At fourteen, I won the national under-15 championship.
I stood on the podium.Gold medal around my neck.Crowd cheering. Cameras flashing.
But my eyes searched for one face…
He wasn't there.
He never came.
Even after all that… he wasn't there.
I clutched the medal to my chest.But it meant nothing without his pride.
Coach patted me on the back."You're incredible, Lucas. This isn't just a win — this is the beginning of a legend."
I nodded, smiled faintly… but it never reached my eyes.
Inside, I thought:
"I'm not amazing.I'm just… existing."
That moment, standing on the podium, I realized something:
I stopped caring.
Three years later
My final year of high school.
I sat on the rooftop, far from everyone.I put out my cigarette, then pulled a small plastic bag from my backpack.
Inside: eleven neatly folded letters.Each written by my mother.
I had found them by chance in a locked drawer in my father's office.
Each one began the same:
"To Lucas, on your birthday..."
One for every year she missed —From age 7 to 17.
I held the first letter in my hand.Just touching the envelope brought everything back.
My tears that night.The silence.My innocent question:"When is Mom coming back?"
Year after year… not a word.No call.No visit.Not even a card.
Until now.
I clenched the envelope tightly.
"Enough," I muttered.
I lit a match.A small flame. Then fire.
The words burned. But I didn't cry.Didn't scream. Didn't resist.
One by one —I burned them all.
I didn't read a single word.Didn't care what she said.Didn't want to know why she left,or how much she "loved me from afar."
If she left...there's no rewriting the ending.
When it was over,I looked at the smoke curling upward toward the sky.
"This door is closed forever."
I walked away from the rooftop, backpack slung over one shoulder.
The battle inside me had ended —but no one would ever see the scars.
My steps were slow. My eyes unfocused.
But when I looked up…
Mia was there.
Waiting at the school gate.
Her summer jacket fluttered lightly in the breeze.Her dark eyes sparkled as if they were made for another world.
When she saw me, a small smile broke across her face —soft, but enough to pierce the fog I carried.
She'd done her best to hold on.The little girl I once knew was still there.
Then she slapped my arm lightly.
"You were smoking again, weren't you?" she scolded.
"How did you know?"
She pointed at her nose."The ash, the smell, your tired eyes. I'm not stupid, Lucas."
I sighed but said nothing.
She softened her voice slightly.
"You know I hate it when you do that… You're only hurting yourself."
Lucas gave her a tired, half-laugh."I'm not punishing myself, Mia… I'm just becoming a ghost."
She looked at him for a long second.
"Then breathe, Lucas... but don't burn."
They walked together — slowly, silently.
Not the silence of distance…but the peace of people who no longer need to speak.
The air was still.Their steps quiet.For once, life gave them a moment of peace.
But peace never lasts.
"Lucas! Look out!"
Mia's scream tore through the air —but it was too late.
A motorcycle shot around the corner, speeding like a demon.Two riders — a driver… and a second man in a black scarf, wielding a metal baseball bat.
He swung.
Crack.
Lucas took the hit directly to the head.
Everything slowed.
He heard screaming.Felt pain explode through his skull.
Then… darkness.
It was over.
Mia screamed, "LUCAAAAAAS!"
One of the bikers jumped off, grabbed Lucas's limp body, and hauled him onto the bike.
The engine roared.
Mia tried to run, but the back wheel spun violently, spraying dust into her face.
In seconds…
The motorcycle vanished around the corner.
All that remained was the dust...and her hand, reaching out for someone who was no longer there.