The First Time He Chose Not to Care

The thought surfaced as he clutched the strap of his bag tightly. His face remained expressionless, but his eyes revealed a sorrow too deep to hide.

The next morning, Kaivan walked to school with sluggish steps. The morning chill wrapped around the city, but he paid it no mind. His head hung low, thoughts drowned in an ocean of sorrow. As he passed through the school gates, his frail frame seemed almost invisible among the taller, sturdier students. He didn’t notice the boy standing right in front of him, until it was too late.

Thud!

Kaivan’s body collided with another student, sending the books in the boy’s arms scattering across the ground. He lifted his gaze and found himself face-to-face with Radit, a broad-shouldered student whose expression was etched with impatience.

“If you’ve got eyes, use them! Watch where you’re going, idiot!” Radit barked, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of several students nearby. He leaned forward, his tone sharp as a blade, making a few of the onlookers instinctively step back, unwilling to get involved.

Kaivan only stared back with empty eyes. There was no fear, no defiance, just a hollow stillness that words could not capture. Radit scoffed at the sight, his lip curling in disdain.

“Tch, freak,” Radit spat before shoving Kaivan roughly.

Kaivan staggered backward and collapsed onto the floor. He picked himself up immediately, brushing the dust from his uniform without a word. His head remained bowed, as if the entire incident wasn’t worth acknowledging.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna apologize to Radit?” a mocking voice rang out. It was Dani, a sly-faced boy from Radit’s group, stepping forward with a smirk.

“S-sorry… I didn’t see,” Kaivan murmured so softly it was almost lost in the noise of the hallway. Still, it was enough for Dani to snort.

“What a weirdo,” he muttered before retreating to his group. Radit chuckled and walked off as if nothing had happened.

Inside the classroom, the social hierarchy spread out like a messy abstract painting, leaders, followers, the popular, the kind, the beautiful, the handsome. Yet in the darker corners sat the victims, marked as weak, awkward, easy prey for ridicule and violence.

Kaivan sat at his desk, pulling out a novel with an unreadable expression. To him, the classroom noise was nothing more than irrelevant background static, the laughter, the loud conversations, the playful arguments, all echoes from a world he could no longer touch.

“Why should I care?” he thought, his blank gaze fixed on the page.

Each day passed with stabbing monotony, like a song with no harmony. Kaivan sank deeper into himself, wrapped in sorrow. Every smile he saw, every burst of laughter, only reminded him of how distant he was from it all.

But his empty stare didn’t escape the eyes of those always hungry for new prey. A broad-shouldered boy with neatly combed hair swaggered up, his grin sharp with provocation. Behind him, several others followed, waiting for the cue.

“Why are you looking at us like that, huh?” His voice was loud enough to turn heads across the classroom. Curious eyes began to shift toward them.

Kaivan lifted his head slowly, his hollow eyes meeting the boy’s. He shook his head faintly, trying to avoid confrontation.

“Sorry. It’s nothing,” he answered in a low, emotionless voice.

“Look at him, just sitting there all quiet! Thinks he’s cool, huh?” one of the boys jeered. The atmosphere thickened, tense yet expectant, like the prelude to a stage play. Kaivan kept his silence, turning his eyes to the window instead.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the start of class, Kaivan exhaled in relief. But that relief was only an illusion.

After school, in a deserted hallway, Kaivan found himself cornered by the same group. Their words lashed out like knives.

“Hey, the orphan thinks he’s cool, huh? Just keeps quiet, doesn’t even answer when spoken to!” One of them, the dominant one, drove his fist into Kaivan’s stomach.

His frail body stumbled back, pain radiating sharp and slow. His breath caught in his throat, but Kaivan didn’t scream. He didn’t cry. He only stood there, eyes downcast, gaze stripped of hope.

Days bled into one another, and the violence became routine. Every punch, every taunt, etched itself into the bleak rhythm of his life. Yet within him, something began to shift. The long-buried hatred flickered into a small flame.

“Why should I care?” he muttered again one day, his voice raw. But this time, the tone was different. A silent decision had taken root.

He would not let them destroy him completely.

Slowly, Kaivan began building walls around his emotions. He shut the world out, becoming cold, apathetic. In class, he observed everything with the sharp gaze of an analyst. When he saw another classmate fall victim to bullying, he felt no sympathy. Instead, he studied. He traced patterns in the social order, calculating strategies for survival.