"Ivan! Ivan, wake up! You're going to be late for school!"
He opened his eyes abruptly, and his mother was standing in the doorway.
"Get up. I'm not driving you if you're late again."
Ivan slowly sat up.
"I'm coming."
He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
"Ivan? Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
His mother's voice came from the hallway.
"Just a headache,"
he said, pulling himself up. The room swayed slightly. A brief wave of dizziness forced him to grip the edge of his bed.
His mother was standing beside the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee in her hand. She looked up when he came out and furrowed her brows.
"You really do look pale,"
she said, setting the cup aside.
She approached him and reached out to press her palm against his forehead. Her hand was warm.
"You don't have a fever! Maybe you didn't sleep well?"
She sighed.
"Did you stay up drawing again? I told you, those books aren't doing you any good."
Ivan stood there, the kitchen window casting its light perfectly across her face.
"I'm fine."
"Ivan? You've been staring at me for a while. Is something wrong?"
His gaze drifted from his mother to the kitchen behind her.
"Ivan? Where are you going?"
His mother called after him, her voice following him. She stopped in the kitchen doorway, her head tilted as she watched him with a puzzled expression.
"You're acting strange this morning."
Ivan didn't answer. He moved toward the bathroom, his steps heavy.
He entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him.
He turned toward the mirror.
His reflection stared back at him.
He stepped closer, his breath fogging the glass.
The dull brown he saw in his eyes every morning was gone.
In its place was a deep, shimmering violet, bleeding into golden veins around the edges of his irises.
The color wasn't solid. It was alive. When he blinked, the colors shifted, changing subtly.
His heart pounded.
He raised a hand, his trembling fingers touching the glass. The reflection's eyes followed his hand with perfect precision.
"No. No, no, no,"
he whispered, his voice cracking.
He gripped the edge of the sink and counted to ten.
When he opened his eyes again, the violet was still there.
A knock on the door made him flinch.
"Ivan? Is everything okay?"
Ivan opened the door, his hand still gripping the handle tightly. He kept his head lowered, his hair falling forward to shadow his face.
She stepped closer, her brows furrowing.
"Why are you walking like that?"
She reached out, moving toward his face to lift his chin.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Ivan."
Ivan recoiled from her touch. Her hand hung in the air for a second before she slowly lowered it, her expression changing.
"Ivan, what's wrong with you?"
He kept his eyes fixed on the floorboards.
"I'm just tired."
"That doesn't make you jump away like I'm about to hit you, and it doesn't explain why your eyes look… different."
Ivan swallowed with difficulty.
"They're just contacts."
He raised a hand and rubbed his eye, trying to look casual.
"I bought some new ones yesterday. That's all."
His mother didn't respond immediately. She continued staring at him, her eyes searching his face suspiciously.
"Contact lenses?"
She repeated the words as if they felt foreign in her mouth. She pulled her hand back and folded her arms across her chest.
"Since when do you wear contacts? You've always hated that kind of thing."
He said it as he walked past her toward the kitchen. He needed to move, to put some distance between them before the lie completely fell apart.
"I saw them online and thought they looked cool."
His mother let out a long, slow breath—the kind that suggested she was consciously deciding to let something go.
She leaned back against the doorframe, her arms still crossed, watching him as he moved into the kitchen.
"Fine. But if those things start hurting your eyes, take them out immediately."
She returned to the counter and picked up her coffee again.