Monday brought the usual chaos of hallways and chatter. For most students, the week meant homework, tests, and recess. For Lucy, each day was a test of control: not to drown in the threads surrounding him.
That day, however, one thread made him stop.
Emily Fischer walked toward class with a forced smile. Around her, the threads seemed normal: pink for friendships, yellow for duties, gray for small arguments. But hers was different. It vibrated with dark blue sadness, and every so often, a red undertone flashed—suppressed anger.
It wasn't the first time Lucy noticed. For weeks, Emily carried that fragile thread. But he had never had the courage to ask.
This time, he couldn't hold back.
"Emily," he called, just before she entered the classroom.
She turned, surprised.
"Lucy? What is it?"
He swallowed. His eyes showed him too much. A fleeting vision struck: Emily arguing with someone older at home, tears in her eyes, a door slamming shut.
"Are you okay?" he asked, softer than he intended.
Emily blinked, confused. Then gave a weak smile.
"Of course, why do you ask?"
Lucy hesitated. Telling her what he'd seen would be a mistake, as he'd learned before. But staying silent felt cruel.
"You just… looked a bit tired," he said finally.
Emily studied him in silence, as if trying to read him. Then she sighed.
"I guess so. Didn't sleep much. Family stuff, nothing important."
It was a half-truth, and Lucy knew it. The red thread confirmed it. But instead of pressing, he simply nodded.
The rest of the day, he couldn't shake the image. After the last class, he gathered his courage and caught up with her at the gate.
"Emily… if you ever need to talk, you can count on me."
She stopped, surprised. Students passed by, paying no attention. For a moment, it felt like they were the only ones in the world.
Emily looked at him, her eyes shimmering oddly.
"You've always been weird, Lucy." She smiled softly, though her voice trembled. "But… thanks."
The blue thread softened slightly, its burden easing. Lucy felt a strange warmth in his chest.
That night, in his notebook, he wrote a single line:
The threads of the heart are more fragile than those of sin.
And, for the first time since his eyes had awakened, he felt judgment was not just a burden… but also a chance to protect what he valued most.