Elio's earliest memory is of dirt under his nails.
He was small, sitting near the fields, trying to help his mother while only making things worse. She had laughed, wiped his hands clean, and told him it was alright to be useless at something for a while.
He held onto that sentence longer than he should have.
Years later, he still feels useless most days.
The house creaks more now. The land gives less. His father sits by the window, quiet, thinking thoughts Elio was never meant to hear. His mother moves slower than before, though she pretends not to notice.
Elio notices everything.
Especially the way his future feels like a locked door.
He is not brave. He is not special. He is not chosen by anything that matters. He gets into trouble, avoids responsibility, and hides behind jokes when things get too heavy.
And then, one evening, he hears a voice that is not spoken.
It is his father's. Tired. Afraid. Thinking about loss.
Elio freezes.
He tells himself he imagined it. He tells himself he is wrong. But the voice comes again, clear as breathing, and suddenly the world is not as simple as it was an hour ago.
That night, Elio understands something for the first time.
Whatever he is becoming, it is not safe.
And whatever broke long before him is starting to wake up.