I woke to the gentle patter of rain against my window, a sound so familiar in our little Swedish village that it might as well be silence. My alarm hadn't gone off yet, but the pale light filtering through my curtains told me it was nearly time. I reached over and silenced the clock before it could start its daily protest - a reminder of how mundane life has become.

  The house was quiet. It was always quiet these days. I padded through the familiar routine. Shower. Teeth. Clothes laid out the night before – nothing special, just jeans and a faded blue sweater my grandmother had given me last Christmas. The last Christmas before she…

  I pushed the thought away.

  The bathroom mirror greeted me with the same reflection it always did. Green eyes stared back, still heavy with sleep, beneath a mess of blond curls that never seemed to behave no matter what I did with them. I ran my fingers through them half-heartedly, watching the waves spring back into their natural chaos. Mormor always said my height came from her side of the family, and standing there, I could almost believe her – all lanky limbs and narrow shoulders that made finding clothes that fit properly its own special challenge.

  "You'll grow into your height one day, Erik." I could almost hear her say, the memory of her voice so clear it made my chest ache, beneath the faded smile.

  The kitchen was cold when I entered. I switched on the coffee maker – one of the few appliances I'd mastered out of necessity this past year. The calendar on the fridge displayed my parents' latest business trip schedule in my mother's neat handwriting. Tokyo this week, then straight to New York. They wouldn't be back for another eleven days. Not that I was counting.

  I toasted some bread and scrambled eggs, the motions mechanical. Mormor had taught me to cook proper meals, but lately, I couldn't be bothered. What was the point of setting the table for one?

  As I ate, I scrolled through my phone. A message from Dad sent at 3 AM my time: "Meeting went well. How's school?" The same message he sent every few days, more obligation than interest.

  I typed back: "Fine. Everything normal." He wouldn't ask for details, and I wouldn't offer them.

  The walk to school was short, just fifteen minutes along streets I'd known my entire life. Brick houses with neatly tended gardens lined the road, smoke curling from chimneys into the damp morning air. A few neighbors waved as I passed. Old Mrs. Nystr?m called out from her garden.

  "Good morning, Erik! No umbrella today?"

  I shrugged, offering a small wave. "It's just drizzling."

  "Your grandmother would scold you for catching a cold," she said, her smile tinged with sympathy.

  I nodded and kept walking. Everyone in the village knew. Everyone had attended the funeral last year. The old ones still gave those looks. Everyone else had moved on long ago.

  Vikh?g School appeared around the corner, a two-story building of red brick that housed all three hundred students from our village and the surrounding farms. I navigated the crowded hallways with practiced ease. A few nods here and there to people I'd known since kindergarten, nothing more.

  "Hey, Persson, did you finish the chemistry homework?" Marcus fell into step beside me, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

  "Yeah, it wasn't hard." I pulled the assignment from my bag and handed it over. Marcus copied quickly, scribbling answers as we walked.

  "Can't believe you got all these," he muttered. "Didn't you say you barely studied?"

  I forced a half-smile. "Just got lucky, I guess."

  The truth was, I hadn't needed to study much. Most subjects came easily enough that minimal effort yielded decent results. Not top of the class – that would require actual dedication – but comfortably above average. Enough that teachers expected more from me than I was usually willing to give.

  "Mr. Persson," Mrs. Bergman's voice caught me as I slid into my seat for first-period Swedish literature. "I trust you've completed the essay on Strindberg?"

  "Yes, ma'am," I replied, pulling the paper from my folder. Just another assignment, just another day.

  She took it without comment. No special attention, no lingering looks. Why would there be? Teachers had thirty other students to worry about, and I made sure to be neither troublesome nor exceptional enough to warrant extra concern.

  The morning classes blurred together in a familiar rhythm. I answered when called upon, usually correctly. I took notes when necessary, completed in-class assignments without complaint. I kept my face arranged in what I hoped was a normal expression – not too happy, not too miserable. The balance was important. Too much in either direction invited questions from the teachers that I didn't want to answer.

  They had checked up on me a lot in the beginning, knowing parts of my situation, which I had appreciated at the time, but I didn't want the special treatment to make my friends uncomfortable. Or worse – make them treat me differently too. Mrs. Bergman had been the worst offender, with her concerned glances and offers to talk after class. Mr. Nilsson from math had actually called my parents once, which had resulted in an awkward video call where they assured him from separate hotel rooms that everything was fine at home. They'd been annoyed about the interruption to their schedules.

  Eventually, the teachers had backed off. I'd mastered the art of seeming just fine enough – turning in work on time, participating minimally but adequately, maintaining grades that neither raised concerns nor expectations. The sweet spot of invisibility.

  Lunchtime came, and I made my way to the cafeteria, navigating the crowded hallways on autopilot. The noise hit me as I pushed through the double doors – hundreds of conversations layered over clattering trays and scraping chairs. I spotted Marcus waving from our usual table and headed over, grabbing a tray of today's special – some kind of fish with potatoes – along the way.

  Marcus's broad shoulders were easy to spot in any crowd. Years of boxing training had given him a fighter's build, compact and powerful, though he carried himself with a careful gentleness that always seemed at odds with his physical strength. His dark brown hair was cropped short on the sides, slightly longer on top, and his startlingly blue eyes tracked me as I approached. Those eyes missed nothing – a fighter's awareness that extended well beyond the ring.

  Beside him, Sofia was talking animatedly, her hands gesturing in the air as she made some point. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The fluorescent cafeteria lights caught on her glasses – thick-lensed things that magnified her blue eyes to almost comical proportions. She'd been wearing the same style since we were kids, though the prescriptions kept getting stronger. "Blind as a bat," she'd joke, holding her hand inches from her face. "Everything beyond this is just colorful fog."

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  "Did you see the pop quiz Hedlund gave in the morning class?" Sofia asked as I slid onto the bench, squinting at me through those impossible glasses. "Think we'll get it too?"

  I shrugged, arranging my face into what I hoped was casual interest. "Probably. He usually gives the same tests to all sections."

  "Great," Jonas groaned, running a hand through his dark hair. "I haven't even started reading."

  "I have notes," I offered, pulling out my notebook. The words were automatic, but genuinely meant – at least for Marcus and Sofia. They were the closest thing to family I had in this town now that Mormor was gone.

  I pushed the notebook across the table, giving a small smile that didn't quite reach my eyes. Sofia noticed – she always did – but didn't comment, ironic how well she could see people considering her actual lack of sight. Instead, she launched into a detailed breakdown of what she'd heard about the quiz from her friend in the morning section, words tumbling out in her characteristic rapid-fire delivery.

  "—and apparently it's all about the French Revolution, which totally makes sense because Hedlund was wearing his Bastille Day tie yesterday, you know the one with the tiny guillotines? He always dresses according to what he's going to test on, I've been tracking it all year—"

  "Breathe, Sof," Marcus interjected, the corner of his mouth lifting in a fond smile. His voice was deep and measured, the complete opposite of Sofia's enthusiastic chatter.

  She stuck her tongue out at him before turning back to me. "You didn't eat breakfast again, did you?" Without waiting for an answer, she pushed her untouched apple and yogurt toward me. "Take these. I'm not hungry anyway."

  It was a lie – Sofia was always hungry – but it was her way of taking care of me without making a big deal of it. I accepted with a nod of thanks. This was our unspoken arrangement: they pretended not to worry too much, and I pretended not to notice when they did exactly that.

  The conversation flowed around us – complaints about teachers, plans for the weekend, speculation about who was dating whom. I offered brief comments when directly addressed, and picked at Sofia's donated food with slightly more interest than I'd had in my own meal. Marcus's steady presence on my right was comforting in its familiarity, his occasional shoulder bump a physical reminder that I wasn't as alone as I sometimes felt.

  "Earth to Erik," Sofia said, waving a hand in front of my face, nearly knocking over her water bottle in the process. "You zoning out again?"

  I blinked, focusing on her magnified eyes. "Sorry. What?"

  "I asked if you're coming to Lisa's party on Friday."

  "Oh." Another decision to navigate. Say no too often and Sofia would just show up at my house and physically drag me out. I'd learned that lesson the hard way. "Maybe. Depends on this history project."

  Sofia rolled her eyes so dramatically I could practically hear it. "You always say that. When's the last time you actually went anywhere without me threatening you?"

  "I went to Jonas's thing last month," I protested weakly, though I'd only stayed for an hour before slipping out.

  "For like five minutes," she countered. "Come on, it'll be fun. Lisa's parents are away, and her brother's getting beer."

  I felt the eyes of the others on me, waiting for my answer. Marcus wasn't looking at me, suddenly very interested in his lunch, but I knew he was listening. He had a strict code of honor about things like drinking – part of his boxer's discipline – but he never lectured or judged. Just quietly abstained with that almost old-fashioned sense of principle that sometimes made him seem like he'd stepped out of another century.

  "Fine," I said, not having to force as much enthusiasm as I expected. "But I can't stay late. My parents are calling from Tokyo." A small lie, but a useful one. No one questioned family obligations.

  Sofia clapped her hands together, nearly sending her glasses flying. "Yes! Operation 'Get Erik a Social Life' continues!" Her grin was infectious, bright enough to momentarily push back some of the gray that had settled over my world.

  The others launched into plans – who was picking up who, what time to arrive, whether Lisa's crush would finally notice her. I let myself fade back into the background, but Sofia wouldn't have it, constantly pulling me back into the conversation with direct questions and pointed looks when my attention wandered.

  As lunch ended and we gathered our things, Marcus fell into step beside me on the way to biology, Sofia bouncing along on my other side, still talking about the party.

  "I'll pick you both up at eight," Marcus said definitively. It wasn't a question. "We'll go together."

  This was his way – no fuss, no room for argument, just steady reliability. He'd appointed himself my unofficial guardian after Mormor died, making sure I had actual groceries in the house, sometimes just silently keeping me company when words felt impossible. He never mentioned it, never made me feel like a charity case. It was just what friends did, in his world.

  "Perfect!" Sofia exclaimed, bumping her shoulder against mine. "And if it sucks, we can always bail and go get ice cream instead." This was her way – always an exit strategy, always making sure I had options.

  Between the two of them, they'd created a safety net I hadn't asked for but desperately needed. Sometimes I felt guilty about it – about how much they gave and how little I seemed able to return lately – but I was selfishly grateful too.

  "Sounds good," I agreed, and meant it.

  Sofia beamed, then squinted past me at something on the wall. "Is that the new club signup sheet? I can't see a thing from here." She fumbled in her pocket for her spare pair of glasses – even thicker than the ones she was wearing – and perched them on top of her regular pair in a ridiculous double-glasses arrangement that only Sofia could pull off without self-consciousness.

  "Debate club," Marcus read for her. "It's just the debate club flyer, Sof. Same one that's been there all week."

  "Oh." She removed the extra glasses, nearly poking herself in the eye in the process. "Well, how would I know? Everything beyond arm's length is just colorful smudges to me."

  "One day you're going to walk into traffic," I said.

  "That's why I keep you two around," she replied cheerfully. "Human seeing-eye dogs."

  Marcus shook his head, but I caught the smile he tried to hide. That was the thing about Sofia – her relentless optimism and chatter could wear you down, but in the best possible way. Like erosion reshaping stone. Even in my darkest moments over the past year, she'd somehow managed to wear tiny cracks into my isolation, letting slivers of light back in.

  We entered the biology lab together, taking our usual seats as Mr. Karlsson began distributing microscopes for today's examination of pond water samples. Sofia immediately began peppering him with questions about what we might see, while Marcus methodically organized our workspace, laying out slides and droppers with the precision that characterized everything he did.

  I focused on adjusting the lens, finding comfort in the precise, methodical task. Through the eyepiece, a whole invisible world came into focus – tiny organisms darting and spinning in their liquid universe, unaware of anything beyond their microscopic concerns.

  "Whoa, check this out," I said, sliding the microscope toward Sofia, who pressed her face so close to the eyepiece that her glasses clunked against the metal.

  "It's swimming!" she exclaimed with the enthusiasm she brought to even the smallest discoveries.

  Marcus leaned over to look after her, his observations more measured but no less interested. "Paramecium. See how it uses the cilia to move?"

  For forty-five minutes, we lost ourselves in observation and note-taking, the three of us falling into our familiar rhythm – Sofia's excited discoveries, Marcus's careful analysis, my quiet sketching of what we observed. It was easier this way – surrounded by their steady presence, temporarily anchored by their friendship.

  The bell rang, startling me back to awareness. I packed away my things methodically, preparing for the final class of the day. Outside the window, the spring sun had disappeared behind clouds again, casting the schoolyard in flat, gray light.

  "Remember, eight o'clock Friday," Marcus said as we parted ways in the hallway, his tone brooking no argument. "I'll text you tomorrow."

  "And wear something nice!" Sofia called over her shoulder as she hurried toward her literature class, narrowly avoiding collision with a freshman as she squinted at the room numbers.

  I watched them go – my unlikely family, the ones who refused to let me disappear entirely into myself. A boxer with an old soul and a half-blind chatterbox with an impossibly big heart. The corners of my mouth lifted in what felt like the first genuine smile of the day.

  Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be just another gray day after all.

  Or so I thought.