CHAPTER 1: Fragments of Silence
The sound of a buzzing phone dragged Alex out of a half-dream.
He blinked into the dim light of his one-room apartment — a narrow space littered with comic books and half-read novels, their pages curled and yellowed from neglect. The air smelled faintly of instant noodles and dust. His bed, little more than a mattress on the floor, was tangled in sheets and regret.
He groaned and sat up slowly. A few comics slid off his chest, fluttering to the ground like wounded birds. His eyes burned, the skin beneath them shadowed and raw. His reflection in the cracked mirror across the room stared back — red hair sticking out in wild clumps, eyes dull and rimmed with dark circles. He looked like someone who hadn't slept, or hadn't wanted to.
His phone buzzed again in his hand. He unlocked it, already knowing what he'd see.
Kerra: I'm sorry, Alex. I was only with you to make my ex jealous. He came back... it's not you, it's me. I hope we can still be friends.
He stared at the message for a long time — reading it again and again until the words lost their meaning. Then, without thinking, he flung the phone onto the bed.
The screen dimmed, leaving the room quiet again.
"Another one gone," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough from disuse.
A humorless smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "All girls are the same."
He leaned back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. The silence pressed down on him, heavy and familiar. He didn't move for hours, didn't think — just existed, trapped somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.
Finally, when the emptiness started to feel unbearable, he whispered, "Maybe a book would cheer me up."
The words sounded ridiculous even to him, but they gave him a reason to stand.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and let the cold water of the shower wash over him. The sting of it cleared his mind a little. When he stepped out, steam curled around his reflection — broad shoulders, lean muscles, eyes still tired but sharper now. He wiped the fog from the mirror, studying himself as though searching for someone he used to be.
He dressed simply — black trousers, a dark shirt, and his favorite green sweater. Headphones went over his ears, hood up to hide his face. A thin trail of music filled his head — soft piano, slow and melancholic. He dabbed a tissue beneath his eyes, cleaning away the faint traces of last night's breakdown. His face looked calmer now, though a quiet sadness lingered there, adding an odd kind of beauty to it.
Before leaving, he picked up his phone again, hesitated, and slid it into his pocket without checking the screen.
Outside, the apartment hallway smelled of stale air and forgotten lives. As Alex descended the stairs, he passed a few neighbors giving him disapproving looks — maybe for his music, maybe for existing. He didn't care.
At the bottom, the landlord was waiting — a pot-bellied man in an old singlet and army-green shorts.
"Deadline's tomorrow, kid. You hear me?" he barked.
Alex didn't reply. The music drowned out the man's voice. He simply walked past, eyes forward, expression blank. The man sighed and muttered something, but Alex was already gone.
The afternoon light was fading, streaking the streets in amber and gold. The world outside was alive — vendors shouting, cars honking, laughter spilling from café doors — but Alex moved through it like a ghost. His headphones were a barrier, his thoughts a cage. He checked the time on his phone: 3:28 PM. He'd slept through most of the day again.
By the time he reached the city library, the music in his ears had shifted to something softer — wordless and haunting. The library stood tall and old, its walls lined with ivy and stories. He pushed open the doors and stepped into silence.
The woman at the front desk looked up and smiled. She'd seen him before.
"How are you today, Alex?" she asked.
He didn't hear her. But he caught the movement of her lips and gave a small nod in acknowledgment.
She sighed, watching him walk away, hands buried in his pockets.
Alex made his way to the far corner — the fantasy section. It was quiet there, always was. Dust hung in the air, glowing faintly in the slant of afternoon light. He ran his fingers along the spines of books he'd already read a dozen times, searching for something that might distract him from himself.
He pulled out a novel at random — The Crimson Pact — and flipped through the pages. The scent of old paper filled his lungs. He liked it here. The silence, the weight of stories, the illusion that other worlds were just a few words away.
As he settled into his usual seat by the window, the music in his ears faded to nothing. He didn't notice the faint flicker of light that pulsed from his phone screen, nor the brief static hum that passed through his headphones. Outside, clouds thickened over the sun, dimming the world to shadow.
Alex turned a page