It was strange how a single feeling could change the way Jayson saw everything.
It followed him as he walked, sat beside him when he ate, and stayed awake even when he tried to sleep. It had no name yet, only a presence—quiet, persistent, and impossible to ignore. The world had not grown darker, but it had grown sharper, its edges clearer than before.
School no longer felt like a place of noise and play. Lessons mattered now. Words written on the board seemed heavier, as if they carried consequences beyond the classroom. Jayson noticed how teachers chose their sentences carefully, how they paused before answering certain questions, how some topics were gently avoided.
Outside, the village had learned new habits.
People walked closer to the sides of the road. Conversations stopped when unfamiliar figures passed by. Even laughter sounded restrained, as if joy itself had learned to be cautious. Jayson watched all of this silently, absorbing it without fully understanding.
One evening, he followed his uncle without being noticed.
He didn't mean to spy. Curiosity simply pulled him forward, step by careful step, until he stood close enough to hear grown-up voices speaking plainly. There were no raised tones, no anger—just seriousness, the kind that settled deep into the bones.
"They're drawing lines," someone said.
"What happens if we cross them?" another asked.
A pause. Then: "We don't."
Jayson's chest tightened.
Lines. He imagined invisible marks across the land, dividing what was allowed from what was not. He wondered how one could see a line that wasn't there—and how many people had already crossed without knowing.
When he returned home, his mother was waiting.
"You shouldn't wander," she said, not harshly, but firmly.
"I just wanted to see," Jayson replied.
She looked at him for a long time, as if weighing something invisible. "Seeing is dangerous," she said at last. "Once you see enough, you can't pretend anymore."
That night, Jayson lay awake, staring into the dark.
He realized then that the world was not only something to live in—it was something to navigate. Every step mattered. Every choice leaned toward something unseen. Childhood had been a place without maps.
Now, maps were forming.
And even without knowing where they led, Jayson understood one truth with quiet certainty.
The world would not wait for him to be ready.