It wasn't that no one saw him.
It was that no one saw *anything* where he stood.
At first, he thought people were ignoring him. Until Mira walked straight past him in the courtyard—eyes scanning the bench where he was sitting, then sitting *through* him like he wasn't there.
He didn't cast a shadow that day.
He checked three times.
He went home early. Nobody stopped him. The door opened without resistance, but the house was wrong—too quiet, like it hadn't been expecting anyone.
His phone wouldn't turn on. His reflection didn't blink with him. He called his own name aloud, once, twice—then stopped.
What was the point of hearing yourself when no one else could?
He opened his notebook.
Every entry was there.
Except the current date.
A blank space between yesterday's line and tomorrow's header.
No margin. No ink. Just… absence.
He reached for his pencil.
And watched as the tip broke before it touched the page.