Home Was Never Here
He was heading back home after a long, exhausting day at work. The city lights flickered like distant fireflies, but his heart felt heavier than the helmet on his head. He wasn’t just tired, he was angry, shattered, sad, frustrated, and, most unusual of all, silent. The boy who could fill a room with his voice now couldn’t even hear his own thoughts without flinching. His wrist twisted the throttle harder without thinking, the bike surging forward like it wanted to run away from everything with him. The wind tore past, biting his skin, whispering nothing that could calm him. His eyes blurred, not from dust, but from the tears he refused to let fall. His shouts stayed trapped inside his helmet, bouncing back to him like echoes in an empty hall. Maybe the day had been bad. Or maybe this had been building for years. Growing up, he had learned early that life wasn’t going to hand him comfort. His childhood wasn’t painted in warm hugs or gentle bedtime stories. There were no lazy Sunday ...