Ch 6

I don't think he heard me, dear reader, but wait until his steps are gone... *Yeah, I don't hear them anymore.* Let's continue climbing to the third floor.

*What? Why are you looking at me like that?* Is it because you think he's a bad person for wanting his family? I can see that perspective, but he didn't do anything wrong. Even if his thoughts were disgusting, the fact that he controlled himself and didn't act on those desires proves he's a good person.

At the same time, you can't exactly clap for him for doing what should be basic human decency. But you should cheer him on for controlling his urges.

*Not that.... oh you mean the "not."*

I sneaked after he left. Don't worry about it—let's just continue climbing. And remember, how this goes is surely in your hands, dear reader.

When I was younger, I wanted a lot of friends. I talked to nearly everyone in my classroom, and whenever something funny happened, I would joke around and make everyone laugh. I was known as the funny kid everywhere, even during lessons, but nobody seemed to want to be my friend. It felt like I was always the one trying to befriend others, rather than the other way around. For example, if a friend was upset or walked away, their friends would follow or try to calm them down. But when it was me, it seemed like nobody cared whether I was there or not.

At first, I didn't really mind. Then, I started noticing the same from my best friend. If I left, it was just a goodbye, but if someone else left, he would beg them to stay. I tried to tell myself it was all in my head, but I couldn't shake off memories of being ignored. For instance, when others spoke during conversations, everyone would listen, but when I spoke, they would skip over me. I didn't understand why, but I tried not to let it bother me.

Then, I remembered how my father would talk to my brother when driving. He would listen to him, but if I tried to speak, my brother would interrupt me, and my father wouldn't say a word. If I interrupted my brother, though, my father would scold me for not having manners and tell me to shut up. This memory stayed with me, for no reason.

I was always the one starting conversations on social media. Not once did anyone initiate a chat with me. I tried talking to my father and maintaining friendships, but eventually, I reached a breaking point. Imagine now my father asking me why I didn't share my opinions or speak up more, as if it were my fault. And my friends or acquaintances they would say why didn't you ask about me? Why didn't you answer your phones or the door ?

They wouldn't understand how difficult it was for me to talk to people now, even those I used to hang out with every day.

You know what, dear reader, when I first started school, I was bullied every day because I was foreign and, ironically, because I was overweight. The irony deepened when another, even heavier kid joined in the bullying. They would surround me after school in the yard while I waited for my father and poke at me from all sides. Every day, someone from the same country as me participated, leaving me confused about whether it was my body or my nationality they targeted.I even imagined that if I turned around fast enough, they wouldn't be able to poke me again. I was such an idiot back then,

I reported this daily torment to the teachers, but they did nothing. Of course, when I told my father I didn't want to go back to that school, he forced me to continue, not because he didn't believe me, but because he said so. He told my brother we should protect each other so others would fear us. But my brother did nothing to help. He only intervened when my father showed up and caught someone bullying me.

I guess that's what gave me immunity from being bullied—I learned to laugh along with the bullies and make fun of myself. It worked every time, and eventually, we became friends.

On the mention of my brother... I was always jealous of him. He made friends so easily everywhere he went, and even now, my friends are his friends before they become mine. I was mad at him for that when we were younger. But as we grew up, and with our dad being the way he was—like I told you before—we grew closer. I think we bonded over the same hate we have for him.

Oh, wait, we've arrived at the third floor.

Oh, hi there. Sorry if I was loud.

: It's alright. My name's Ahmed, and this is my friend Lavi. What's yours?

My name is Willia...

Ahmed:What?

William.

To be continued....