Chapter 4:Routine shadows

The morning sun barely peeked over the rooftops as Derek yawned, rubbing his eyes and staring at the ceiling. Another day of school stretched ahead, predictable yet draining. The smell of breakfast drifted from the kitchen, signaling the start of his carefully controlled routine.

“Derek, did you finish your history assignment?” his mother asked from the doorway, her voice carrying a mix of concern and gentle insistence. She held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a lunch bag in the other, ready to start her day while making sure he was prepared.

Derek sat up on his bed, fumbling for the notebook on his desk. “Yeah, Mom, I finished it last night,” he replied, trying to sound confident, though the words felt heavy with fatigue. The pressure of constant performance, combined with his ADHD, made even simple tasks feel like mountains to climb.

She nodded, walking closer. “Good. I know things have been… a bit hectic, but I want you to stay on top of your work. You’re smart, Derek. Don’t let distractions pull you down.” Her hand brushed his shoulder briefly, a small gesture of encouragement that contrasted sharply with the weight he felt in his chest.

Breakfast was quiet, the clinking of cutlery the only sound for a few moments. Derek’s mind drifted to school, wondering which teachers might push him today and which classmates would tease or ignore him. Routine could bring comfort, but it could also feel like a cage.

After breakfast, his mother called him to the car. “Alright, get your backpack, and we’ll go. I’ll drive you today.” Derek grabbed his things and followed her outside. The cold air stung his cheeks, and he zipped up his jacket, the seatbelt clicking into place beside him.

The drive was short but filled with the familiar mix of conversation and silence. “Did you check your science notes? I noticed you skipped a few problems last night,” she asked, glancing at him briefly. Derek nodded, unsure whether she was checking for accountability or simply making small talk.

“I looked over them. I’ll finish the rest at school,” he mumbled, staring out the window at the streets waking up. The world felt larger than him, and yet he felt tiny within it, trapped between expectations and reality.

“You’re doing fine, Derek,” his mother said softly. “I just want to make sure you’re not overwhelmed. You’ve got so much potential. I see it every day.” Her words should have comforted him, but they carried a subtle weight—a reminder that every mistake was noticed, every lapse measured.

By the time they pulled into the school parking lot, Derek’s stomach churned with a mix of anticipation and dread. He grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, and turned toward the entrance. His mom watched him for a moment, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “You’ll do great today. Remember, just focus and take it one step at a time.”

Derek stepped out of the car, the noise of students filling the air. Laughter, chatter, and the occasional shout created a wall of sound he had to navigate carefully. Every day felt like a test—not just in academics, but in endurance, patience, and survival. And today, though ordinary, he knew the challenges of school would wait for him like shadows in the hallways, ready to test the limits of his focus and resolve.