> "I wish the day ended before it even began."
That was Seyon’s first thought when his eyes blinked open, the grey morning light slanting through the old blinds of his room in the boys’ dormitory. The smell of damp walls and the distant echoes of cadets jogging filled the air.
His phone buzzed — not the notification he usually hoped for.
[Auntie Alhera]
“Seyon, one of my cousins is visiting your city today. He’ll stop by your house in the evening. Don’t forget to offer tea. Be polite.”
> "Ah, another stranger I’ve never met, coming into a home that doesn’t even feel like mine anymore."
He didn't reply. Just stared at the cracked ceiling, letting the silence consume him for a few seconds longer before getting ready.
---
The path to Nepal Police School was a mix of gravel and red mud from last night’s rain. He adjusted his collar, trying not to look like he hadn’t slept properly in days.
As he neared the school gate, voices broke through the usual quiet.
“Hey, where you going in such a rush, sweetheart?”
“You dropped your dignity! Come back and pick it up!”
A girl in school uniform — unfamiliar — was surrounded by three senior boys in tracksuits. Their laugh was thick with mockery. She looked terrified.
Seyon didn’t even think.
> "This isn't about being a hero. It's about not being able to stay quiet anymore."
He stepped in, grabbed one guy by the collar, and slammed him against the wall.
The boy lunged — but Seyon’s movements were fast. Almost... unnaturally fast.
One punch.
Two elbows.
The third guy hesitated. Seyon stared at him. The air froze. He backed off.
Seyon didn't feel the pain in his knuckles. Not yet. The girl ran away, and he stood there — heart racing — as the school bell rang in the distance.
> "Both my mother and father had fire in their blood. My fists just carry their memories."
---
He arrived late. Shoes muddy. Shirt wrinkled. And right into the arms of Instructor Tashir, who was known for his military-level discipline.
“You think this school is a joke, Mr. Reyeon?”
He didn’t reply.
Ten rounds of the field under the sun. That was his punishment. But more than the heat, it was the stares that burned. Students whispering. Teachers shaking heads.
> "No one cared why I was late. Just that I was."
---
Evening.
He sat at the back of the dormitory hall, trying to scribble a few words in his worn-out notebook. His mind was tired, but his soul still wrote — that part of him never stopped.
Then he heard shouting.
“Hey! Ghost boy!”
“Writing curses in your books again?”
A group of boys approached — classmates who never saw him as one of their own. Pherin, the loudest among them, snatched his bag.
Inside was his manuscript — one he’d been writing for months.
“Let’s see what dark stuff you wrote this time.”
Before Seyon could stop him, Pherin laughed — then struck a match.
A spark.
A page caught fire.
He froze. For a moment, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
> “That’s my story…”
The flames spread fast. His bag melted slightly. Ink turned to ash.
“Oops,” said Pherin mockingly.
Seyon stood silently. Not fighting. Not speaking. Not even blinking.
But deep inside, something cracked.
---
That night, while the others slept soundly, Seyon sat outside under the stars, fingers still stained with ash and bruises. His phone buzzed again.
A new comment on his latest online post — the one he wrote the night before.
@UnnamedSoul:
"This... this saved me. Please don’t stop writing."
He smiled faintly.
> "The world may burn my pages, but someone out there still reads my soul."
---
End of Chapter 2
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