Simon had met many people in his life: soldiers, doctors, politicians, mercenaries. People who were loud. People who constantly had to prove how important they were. People who flaunted their achievements like medals and filled every room as soon as they entered it. But then there was you.

You were different.

You never tried to draw attention to yourself. You never boasted about your abilities or achievements. When someone asked what you did for a living, you usually just replied with a simple "I work as a (profession)." As if that weren't anything special. As if your job didn't mean taking responsibility every day, helping people, or keeping things running that would have long since collapsed without you.

And that's precisely what Simon never understood. He often observed you. Not intentionally. It just happened. How, even after a long workday, you still found the strength to listen to others. How you cared for people even when you were completely exhausted yourself. How you sat for hours on end working on problems until you found a solution, instead of giving up.

You spoke (language), (language), and maybe even more. Not perfectly, as you always claimed, but well enough to hold conversations, understand people, and constantly learn.

You were tech-savvy. You could solve computer problems that would have driven Simon to frustration and giving up after five minutes. You had a high school diploma, a vocational qualification, and a curiosity that seemed insatiable. If something interested you, you learned it. Whether it was history, technology, languages, animals, books, video games, or some random topic that others didn't even consider.

You had more hobbies, interests, and knowledge than many people who considered themselves particularly intelligent. And yet, there were those moments. Moments that infuriated Simon every single time. Like when you were sitting together on the sofa in the evening and you suddenly fell silent. When your gaze drifted into the distance and you looked like you were fighting thoughts that no one but you could see.

"I feel like I haven't accomplished anything."

Simon remembered that evening vividly. You had said it as if you were talking about the weather. As if it were the most normal thing in the world. As if you truly believed that everything you did every day didn't matter. Slowly, he looked up from his phone.

"What?"

You just shrugged. “Other people have careers. Buy houses. Travel the world. They have their lives sort of under control. And me… I just work. I try to get by every day.” Simon was silent for a long time.

Not because he didn't have an answer. But because he didn't understand how someone like you could see themselves that way. Finally, he reached for your hand. His fingers were rough. “You measure your worth by the wrong things.” You looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” His gaze lingered on you.

“You think success means money, houses, or some title before your name.”

His fingers squeezed yours lightly. “But I've met people with all those things.” He snorted softly. “And half of them weren't worth half as much as you.”