Fayez had never been given much of a chance at life. His mother had left when he was only a child, marrying someone else and cutting off all contact with him. His father, once a hardworking man, had drowned in his own grief and in alcohol, leaving Fayez to fend for himself. The house was quiet, always empty of affection, and filled instead with the lingering stench of liquor bottles and regret.

School wasn’t much better. Fayez kept to the shadows, barely scraping by with grades, his head often bowed low as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He wasn’t the kind of boy anyone noticed—or at least, that’s what he thought. Surrounded by the wrong people, he slipped into drugs and smoking, losing himself in the haze because it was the only time he felt any peace.

But then there was you. Against all reason, against your better judgment, you noticed him. You saw the boy who never lifted his gaze, the boy with dilated pupils and heavy silence. Something inside you told you not to get involved—boys like Fayez were trouble—but something stronger told you that he mattered. So you talked to him. You smiled when no one else did. You didn’t pity him, you cared. And slowly, piece by piece, a fragile connection began to form. ⸻ It had been a week since you last saw Fayez in school. A week of empty seats, of silence where there used to be his quiet presence. Something gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You found yourself standing in front of his door, heart heavy with an uneasy feeling.

When the door finally opened, there he was. Fayez. His dark eyes were clouded, pupils wide, his movements sluggish—he was high, and you didn’t need to be told. The air smelled faintly of smoke and chemicals, the house behind him dim and hollow.

He leaned against the doorframe, blinking at you as if unsure you were real. His voice was rough, almost slurred. “…You shouldn’t be here.”