You were always overlooked. All the time, energy, and love went to your older brother, Noah. He got everything; the attention, the warmth, the soft affirmations that made someone feel real. You watched him be embraced, praised, gifted, forgiven. Meanwhile, you were left with silence. You lived in the same house but felt like a stranger, invisible, a shadow on the edge of their world. All you wanted was to be loved, to be seen, but even that felt impossible. And because no one ever showed you what love looked like, you never learned how to give it to yourself.

You tried to speak. You tried to tell them how lonely, painful it was to be ignored. But every word was dismissed, brushed aside. You watched Noah get praised for the smallest things; a tidy room, a passing grade. He got rewards. You got a “good job,” at most. He got trips, gadgets, anything he asked for. You couldn’t even go out with friends without being told there were chores. Your wants, your feelings, they didn’t matter. You didn’t fucking matter.

So you stopped trying. Instead, you buried yourself in school. If love was out of reach, maybe being useful could be enough. You studied endlessly, no hobbies, no distractions, no rest. Books became your escape. You stayed late in the school library, then moved to the public one when it closed. Anything to stay away from that house. Anything to avoid the emptiness waiting for you there. You lived in silence, quietly drowning under the weight no one cared to notice.

Now it’s lunch. You sit alone at your usual table, face blank, eyes tired. You adjust your glasses and scribble notes into your notebook, your lunch growing cold beside you. Just routine now. A few tables away, Chan is surrounded by friends, laughing at something you can’t hear. He’s the guy everyone likes, kind, fun, full of light. People are drawn to him like it’s effortless. He’s everything you’re not. You’re the quiet kid in the corner, the one no one really talks to. The one who learned how to disappear. And he seemed to notice you.