Invisible life

The sun set slowly behind the rooftops of the old buildings, painting the sky in shades of orange and red that Hanan barely noticed. He walked down the narrow street where he lived, hearing his footsteps echoing on the old pavement. The air was hot and humid, filled with the smells of burnt asphalt from the scorching day and tired flowers from the neglected public garden that someone had forgotten to water for weeks. The street was relatively quiet – only a few people had returned home, absorbed in their phones or brief chats with neighbors. Hanan pulled the straps of his backpack over his shoulders, feeling as if he were trying to squeeze himself into the gray walls and make himself smaller, more invisible. He hated that feeling, the sense of being unseen – not a cool superhero power like in Marvel movies, but just an annoying existential state that made him feel like an old piece of furniture no one notices until someone bumps into it by accident.

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Hanan wasn’t an especially weird or rejected kid – he just wasn’t the kind of person anyone paid attention to. He wasn’t the class star, not the athlete everyone admired, and not the genius who got applause for solving complicated math problems. He was a middle-of-the-road student, the kind who got grades that weren’t embarrassing but also not impressive. The teachers didn’t really remember his name, and the classmates – if you could call them that – didn’t wait for him after class or invite him to play soccer in the yard. At home, things weren’t much better. His parents had been divorced for a few years, and he felt they were too busy with their own lives to notice him. His mom worked late, and his dad... well, he had long become a vague memory, visiting briefly once a month, if that. Hanan remembered how he once tried to ask them why they split up, but his mom just sighed and said, "It’s complicated," and his dad shrugged and said, "That’s life." He stopped asking. He accepted it the way he accepted everything – in silence.

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When he reached the entrance of the building, he pulled the key from his pocket and struggled with the old, rusty lock, as usual. Sounds from the neighboring apartments filled the stairwell – loud news from the neighbor’s TV upstairs, the laughter of a small child from the apartment across the hall, and the clattering of pans someone was washing in the kitchen on the first floor. He entered his small apartment, tossed his bag in the corner by the couch, and knew no one would be waiting for him there. His mom still hadn’t come home from work, and the apartment was too quiet, except for the faint hum of the old refrigerator. He sat for a moment on the couch, shoes still on, and looked around. Everything looked the same – the worn-out brown couch, the small table with old coffee stains, and the TV that was always on when his mom returned. He felt like a character in a boring documentary about the daily life of an average kid, one that no channel would ever air because there was nothing interesting about it.

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But he didn’t want to be like this. He wanted people to notice him, to see him, for someone to say, "Hey, Hanan, you’re here!" He once tried joining the school basketball team, but the ball always slipped through his hands, and the coach gently told him, "Maybe this isn’t for you." He tried playing guitar, but the chords got all mixed up, and he gave up after a week. In the end, he stopped trying. He gave up. He accepted that he wasn’t special, not outstanding, not someone people remember. He was Hanan – the invisible kid, the one who always got left behind.

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He got up from the couch, changed clothes, and went to his room. He sat on the bed, rested his head against the wall, and stared at the ceiling, which had a small mold stain that had been growing there for months. He felt heavy, as if every day was just a repeat of the one before, like a broken record playing the same boring song over and over again. Then, without warning, something small happened – a moment that changed everything. He lay on the bed, his eyes wandering to the half-open window, and noticed the old neighbor sitting on the balcony across the way, as usual.

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The neighbor – a thin man with a short gray beard and a serious face – always sat there with a cup of tea and a newspaper, looking like he was a character in an old movie whose ending was forgotten. Hanan had never spoken to him, but he always thought he looked a little scary, a little sad, and mostly strange.

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But this time, the neighbor wasn’t just sitting there. He was looking at Hanan. Really looking at him. Their eyes met through the window, and Hanan felt a slight shiver run down his spine. The neighbor raised an eyebrow, and then – something that had never happened before – he smiled. It wasn’t a big or warm smile, but a small, almost mischievous one, as if he knew something Hanan didn’t. Hanan recoiled, feeling as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. "What’s his problem?" he thought, quickly looking away. This neighbor had never smiled. He always looked angry or bored, like someone waiting for something to happen but not really believing it would. And now he smiled? At Hanan? It was too strange, too surprising, and way too uncomfortable.

Later that evening, when his mom came home, she looked as tired as usual. She threw her bag onto the chair, turned on the TV, and sank into some reality show where people yelled at each other. Hanan sat at the kitchen table, eating a makeshift bowl of cereal because he couldn’t be bothered to cook, and watched her. She didn’t say anything, just sighed occasionally when someone on TV did something stupid. He wondered – would she look at him like that, like the neighbor? Would anyone ever really see him? Then, without knowing why, he decided to try something. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he took a deep breath, focused on her, and thought about the strange feeling he had when he met the neighbor’s eyes. He tried to imagine sending her something – maybe attention, maybe warmth, he wasn’t quite sure.

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His mom squinted, a small wrinkle forming on her forehead, and then she turned to him. "Hanan, are you okay?" she asked, and her voice was softer than usual, almost surprised. Hanan almost dropped the spoon from his hand. She hadn’t spoken to him like that in years – not since he was little and she used to sing him songs before bed. "Yeah," he mumbled, trying to hide his confusion. "Just thinking about... life." She smiled a small, sad smile, and said, "Life’s always strange, Hanan. We just have to learn to live with it." He nodded, not really knowing what to say, and got up to go to his room. His heart was pounding, and his head was spinning. What had just happened? How had he made her look at him like that?

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In bed, he tried again. He got up, went back to the kitchen, and stood next to her quietly. She was still staring at the TV, absorbed in her world. He focused again, harder this time, and thought in his mind, "Mom, look at me." He felt something flow from him, like a small wave of energy he didn’t fully understand. And suddenly – she turned. "What do you want, Hanan?" she asked, her voice a bit impatient but also curious. He was so startled that he didn’t know what to answer. "Uh... nothing," he mumbled, and she sighed and went back to staring at the TV. He returned to his room, sat on the bed, and stared into the darkness. His head was full of questions. How did he do that? What did it mean? He tried to fall asleep, but he couldn’t. He thought and thought until it was late, and his eyes finally closed on their own.

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The next day, he woke up late, dressed quickly, and left for school. He didn’t talk to anyone on the way, just walked and thought. When he got to the schoolyard, he saw his friends playing soccer, but he didn’t join them. He stood off to the side, watching them, and felt like something inside him had changed. He wasn’t the same invisible Hanan from yesterday. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but he knew it was something big. Something scary. And mostly – something he had to understand. But what would happen when someone else noticed?