Two Worlds, One Self

They say we all live in two worlds: the one you see with your eyes open, and the one you imagine with your eyes closed. But in my case... both exist, and sometimes, the second one is more real than you can imagine.

My name is Asimil. Although, to be honest, I never felt like that name belonged to me. It's a name that echoes in a hollow in my chest, an abandoned cave. I never felt like it was for me, I never felt like it belonged to me.

I always suspected that someone else had chosen it for me.

It could have been my parents in a rare moment of their lives when they were still eagerly awaiting my arrival into this world.

Or maybe... it was him. The other me. The one who lives on the other side, where shadows don't hurt.

That afternoon, as usual, I was walking home from school all alone.

I was carrying a backpack, worn at the edges, slung over my right shoulder like a burden. My headphones, black and threadbare, blocked my ears even though nothing was playing. It wasn't music I was looking for; it was a barrier. A fragile wall against the outside world. 

A boy wearing a fake leather jacket brushed past my arm.

— Did you see his backpack, Leo?” — she whispered, tilting her head toward me with a mocking smile —. “He has an anime keychain on it. That's so pathetic.”

That comment hung in the air, poisoning my mind and perhaps my soul a little.

I kept walking. I didn't quicken my pace. I didn't lower my gaze. I didn't respond either. Why bother? Words were never my shield. I'm one of those people who absorb blows until they turn into a dull buzzing inside my skull. One of those who can't defend themselves, because something broke long ago in the mechanism that turns pain into rage.

As I continued walking, dragging my shadow along the sidewalk, those scenes flashed before my eyes, like broken projectors casting painful, vivid images onto my eyelids.

- The cold, disapproving look on the history teacher's face when I raised my hand to correct a fact about the Sengoku period... using an example from a samurai series.

I thought it was finally my moment to shine.

But all I got was an awkward silence. Then a laugh, Marcos's stifled laugh from the back: “You probably saw it in cartoons, geek!” The heat rose up my neck, burning.

- The accidental push in the crowded hallway after recess.

Javier, with his innocent-looking smile, feigned clumsiness.

My backpack opened when it hit the ground, spilling everything out: notebooks, my pencil case, and a manga called Vencrhris that I had worked so hard to get.

The pages scattered like dead leaves under his friends' sneakers.

“Oops, sorry!” he said without looking at me, while Luis gently kicked the cover with his foot: “What is this shit? It looks like something retards would read.” I picked up the crumpled and stained pages, feeling their eyes fixed on the back of my neck.

- The murmurs in the dining hall, a hissing chorus that always found my back. “...he says he plays 12 hours straight...”,  “...at recess he only draws Chinese monkeys...”, “...he must be a virgin...”, “...don't even touch him, he stinks...”.  I tried to take refuge in my mobile game—a tactical RPG—until a piece of bread dipped in ketchup landed on the screen. Shrill laughter. I wiped the red, sticky liquid off with my sleeve, pretending I wasn't shaking.

Each memory was a nail in my heels.

Each step sank my soles into invisible mud, a trail for my feet made of other people's shame, contempt, and the certainty that my passions were flaws.

And while I was drowning in other people's grief.

The street was bustling—happy voices, the rattling of a bus carrying important people to important places, the ringing of a bicycle bell—but I moved forward like a ghost. Transparent. Insubstantial. A shadow staining the sunny landscape. The geeky kid. The weird otaku. The one who played where no one could see him.

And at my house?

Well, there they always greeted me with the same usual symphony of disagreements.

— I told you not to waste that money on nonsense! —my father's voice boomed from the kitchen, laden with exhaustion bordering on hatred.

— And I told you we needed it for the children's shoes! —my mother replied, her tone sharp as broken glass. There was no sadness in her voice, only sharp anger, the same anger that left marks in the air.

But to tell you the truth, I didn't care; it was normal in this family.

I entered quietly, slipping in like another shadow.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, the steps creaking under my feet like warnings.

I arrived at my room.
A tiny square with some posters of various anime whose protagonist never gave up.

I closed the door. The latch clicked.

And then... Silence.

Or almost total silence, as the echoes from below rose like smoke through the holes in the walls.

But it was the closest thing to what I called peace.

Here, within these four walls, I could pretend it was mine. A tiny, fragile kingdom.

I let myself fall onto the bed, the old mattress protesting with a metallic groan, and then took my cell phone out of my pocket.

The screen lit up, illuminating my face with a cold light.

Notifications: zero.

Messages: none.

Missed calls: none.

A digital desert landscape. No one had written to me. No one had looked for me.

The final confirmation of my invisibility.

That's when the tears came. Silent. Relentless. There were no sobs, just a thick heat that clouded my vision and two wet trails that traced burning paths down my cheeks.

Why? Even I didn't know.

It was accumulated fatigue, a weight on my chest that I could no longer bear. I wiped myself quickly, clumsily, using the sleeve of my school shirt. An automatic gesture. The shame was still there.

I unlocked the phone.

My fingers, still damp, found the familiar icon.

A stylized eye, glowing electric blue against the black background: Altverse.
It wasn't just an app. It was my lifeline, the crack in the wall, my true home. Here, I wasn't Asimil, the ghost, the kid with the ridiculous backpack. Here, I was... someone.

My thumb hovered over the “Connect” button.
I took a deep breath, holding back the last tremor. And I touched it.

The world... didn't just change.

It dissolved.

I felt the light in my room fade, vanishing like ink in water.

The distant screams faded away, replaced by a low, vibrating hum, like the beating of a star. The sensation of the bed beneath my back, the rough texture of the cover, everything evaporated.

I felt myself sinking into deep, warm water, without pressure, without fear.

A gentle vertigo enveloped me, and for a suspended moment, I floated in nothingness, on the threshold. Then, like the first breath after surfacing, the new world began to take shape around me. Impossible colors, sounds that were pure music, a sense of presence and power that I had never felt on that cold street or in that house full of screams. Here, on the other side, I was not invisible.

It was real.

And I... smiled.