Chapter 1: Unnoticed

By the time I reached the classroom, most of the seats were already taken.

Conversations overlapped in the air, blending into a low, constant noise. Chairs scraped against the floor. Someone laughed too loudly near the front. I paused at the door for a second, then stepped inside without anyone noticing.

There was an empty seat near the window. There always was.

I sat down and placed my bag beneath the desk. The glass was slightly dirty, smudged with fingerprints that weren’t mine. Outside, the sky was pale and empty, like it hadn’t decided what kind of day it wanted to be yet.

The teacher arrived a few minutes later and began calling out names.

Each one was answered immediately.

“Here.”
“Yes.”
“Present.”

The rhythm was familiar. Predictable.

When my turn came, there was no sound. Not because I didn’t answer, but because my name passed without a pause, as if it had never been spoken at all.

I didn’t raise my hand. I didn’t correct him.

That was fine.

It usually was.

I spent most days like this—listening more than speaking, watching more than being watched. Group projects sorted themselves without my input. Conversations shifted naturally away from me. It wasn’t that people disliked me. Dislike required effort.

Being unnoticed required nothing at all.

The bell rang, sharp and sudden. Chairs moved again. People stood, still talking, still laughing. Someone brushed past my desk, their sleeve grazing my arm. They didn’t look back. They didn’t apologize.

I wasn’t offended. I was used to it.

As I stood up, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the window. Just for a moment, my reflection seemed faint, like the glass couldn’t decide whether I was really there.

I blinked.

It was normal again.

I told myself it was just the light.

Still, as I walked out of the classroom, a strange thought lingered in the back of my mind—quiet, uncomfortable, and difficult to name.

If someone stopped noticing you completely, what would happen to the parts of you that were left behind?