The cafeteria buzzed with noise — trays clattering, chairs scraping, laughter rising in uneven waves. Karma sat across from Rey and Arya, smiling as if nothing in his head had ever gone wrong.
Rey leaned forward, whispering dramatically about his faraway online girlfriend.
"She didn't reply for six hours," Rey said, shaking his head. "Then suddenly she's active at 2 a.m. Who do you think she's talking to?"
Arya snorted. "Bro, she's cheating. I told you. Long-distance never works."
Karma chuckled on cue. The sound came out natural enough. Around them, students moved and talked — their long zig-zag necks stretching and bending at unnatural angles, tilting like broken antennae. No one else seemed to notice.
Rey groaned. "If she is cheating, I swear I'll block her."
"You won't," Arya said. "You're obsessed."
They ordered noodles. Steam rose from the bowls when they arrived, carrying the sharp scent of soy sauce and chili. Karma wrapped his fingers around his fork and lifted a bite. He placed it in his mouth.
Nothing.
No salt.
No spice.
No warmth.
Just texture.
He paused.
He wasn't sick. No cold. No fever. He had been fine in the morning. He chewed slowly, waiting for flavor to arrive like a delayed train.
It never did.
Across the cafeteria, something shifted.
A girl near the window laughed, and her zig-zag neck slowly twisted — not side to side, but inward. Folding. Coiling like rope being wound. Another student's neck followed, spiraling into itself with a soft, unnatural curve.
Karma blinked.
The coils tightened.
He swallowed the tasteless noodles.
Rey was still talking.
Arya was still laughing.
And the necks kept folding in silence.
---
Karma lifted another forkful of noodles.
His hand trembled.
Just slightly.
Enough for the strands to slip and fall back into the bowl with a soft, wet sound.
He tightened his grip immediately and forced a smirk.
"Bro, you're quiet," Arya said between bites. "Still thinking about Rey's cheating girlfriend?"
Rey rolled his eyes. "She's not cheating."
Karma nodded as if he cared. "Yeah. Relax."
His voice sounded normal. Controlled.
But his fingers were shaking again.
He pressed his elbow against the table to steady himself. Steam from the noodles rose into his face, yet he still couldn't taste anything. It felt like chewing paper soaked in water.
Across the cafeteria, another neck coiled.
Then another.
They didn't snap or twist violently. They folded inward slowly, gracefully — like something surrendering to gravity. Faces remained calm. People laughed. Phones glowed. Spoons clinked.
Only their necks were wrong.
A thin fog began creeping at the edges of his vision.
Not the thick kind from the road that morning.
This one was closer. Tighter. Personal.
The cafeteria noise dulled as if cotton had been stuffed into his ears.
And then—
A fragment.
Not an image at first. Just a sound.
Laughter.
High, childish laughter.
His own.
—
He had once been cheerful.
Too cheerful, teachers used to say. Always smiling. Always loud. Always running.
But there had been something else too.
A habit.
He liked to tease.
To poke.
To test how far he could go before someone reacted.
Weak students were easy targets. Shy ones even easier.
He told himself it was just fun.
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—
The fog thickened.
The cafeteria dissolved.
—
A playground.
Dust rising in sunlight.
A girl standing near the slide.
She had been quiet. Smaller than the others.
He remembered circling her with two boys. Remembered laughing. Remembered mimicking her voice.
She didn't cry at first.
That irritated him.
So he pushed her.
Harder than he meant to.
She fell sideways against rough concrete. Her elbow scraped. Skin tore. A thin red line opened.
Then she cried.
He remembered the sound more than the blood.
Teachers rushed in.
Later that evening, her parents came.
Not angry at first.
Disappointed.
That word again.
They listed things.
Other complaints.
Other small cruelties.
Other pushes.
Other insults.
He stood there silent while adults talked over him.
At that time, he wasn't doing well in studies either.
Another problem.
Another flaw.
Another weakness.
—
The fork slipped from his hand in the present.
It clattered against the bowl.
Rey laughed. "Bro, eat properly."
Karma picked it up quickly. "My hands are oily."
They didn't question it.
They never looked that closely.
—
Night.
Clouds roaring above the house but no rain falling.
Wind pressing against the windows at a steady rhythm.
He remembered being locked inside his room.
Not violently.
Just firmly.
The click of the lock had been soft.
His younger brother had been downstairs, too small to understand.
Voices carried through the walls.
His mother first.
"This is the last time. Even a teacher said he doesn't have a bright future with this kind of mind."
Silence.
Then his father.
"It's the fifth complaint. I can't ignore this anymore. If I do, his life will be destroyed. I have to take brutal steps."
Brutal steps.
The phrase echoed.
Footsteps approached his door.
Heavy.
Measured.
The lock turned.
His father entered without shouting.
That was worse.
He took off his belt slowly.
Karma remembered backing into the corner.
Trying to speak.
The first strike burned like fire.
The second stole his breath.
By the third, he stopped trying to explain.
His mother had gone downstairs.
The wind outside kept moving at the same steady speed.
Clouds roared.
But it never rained.
The marks remained for days.
Long dark lines across his back and arms.
He had stopped smiling after that.
Not completely.
Just differently.
Quieter.
More careful.
He feared his father more than anything from that night onward.
Feared the sound of the belt sliding from loops.
Feared the tone in his voice when he said, "I'm doing this for your future."
And yet—
He also watched his father wake up before sunrise.
Work late.
Come home exhausted.
Hands rough from labor.
Providing.
Sacrificing.
Loving in his own rigid way.
The hatred never stayed pure.
It tangled with something else.
Something uncomfortable.
Love.
Respect.
Dependence.
Another word rose in his mind now, clear and sharp—
Hypocrisy.
The fog thinned.
The cafeteria returned.
Rey was mid-sentence again. Arya was laughing about something unrelated.
But now Karma noticed something new.
One of the coiled necks slowly straightened.
Not fully.
Just enough to look unstable.
Like it could snap at any moment.
His hands were still shaking under the table.
He pressed them against his thighs to hide it.
He swallowed another bite of tasteless noodles.
The word lingered in his head.
Hypocrisy.
He hated his father for violence.
He loved him for sacrifice.
He bullied because he had been hurt.
He hated himself for bullying.
He smiled with friends who had destroyed someone's life.
He felt guilty but stayed silent.
The fog didn't leave completely.
It never did anymore.
It just waited.
And somewhere deep inside, something fragile was beginning to crack — not loudly, not dramatically — but quietly enough that only he could hear it.
A drop fell.
Then another.
They landed quietly into the noodles, disappearing between tangled strands.
Karma’s face did not change.
His mouth remained neutral. His eyes steady. His posture relaxed.
But tears slid down anyway, as if they did not belong to him.
Across the table, zig-zag necks bent and twisted at sharp angles. Some of them were still loosely coiled inward, spiraling in silent tension. But Rey’s and Arya’s necks were unchanged — still unnaturally jagged, but not folding into themselves.
Rey squinted. “Bro… are you crying?”
Karma blinked and wiped his cheek casually. “Crying? Do you think I would cry?”
He forced a small laugh. “My eye’s itching. That’s all.”
Arya didn’t react. He was staring out the cafeteria window, chin resting lightly on his palm. The winter light fell across his face, pale and distant.
Karma tilted his head. “Hey, Arya.”
No response.
“Arya.”
He turned slowly. “Oh. Yeah?”
“It’s rare for you to space out,” Karma said, watching him closely.
Arya’s zig-zag neck twitched slightly, but it didn’t coil.
“I was just thinking,” Arya replied.
“About what?”
A faint smile appeared on Arya’s face. “About you and Rinka.”
Karma stiffened. “What about her?”
“She’s second in class,” Arya continued lightly. “And she looks quite alright. Perfect for you, right?”
Rey immediately grinned. “Ohhh.”
Karma rolled his eyes. “Stop teasing me like that.”
Arya leaned forward now, eyes sharper. “You don’t have the guts to propose to her. I know you secretly like her.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You stare at her during math.”
Karma’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true.”
Rey laughed. “If you have the guts, then go propose. And after doing it, just say it’s a prank.”
Karma’s fingers pressed into the edge of the table. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Ohhh,” Arya said dramatically. “He doesn’t have the balls.”
“Yeah,” Rey added. “All talk.”
Something flickered in Karma’s chest. The word from earlier returned.
Hypocrisy.
He forced a smirk. “At least I’m not like you. Going crazy over some online girl like she’s your wife. Acting like a dog waiting for her reply.”
Rey gasped, then burst into laughter. Arya laughed too — loud, easy, familiar.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
The cafeteria sounds returned to full volume. The fog receded slightly. The coiled necks across the room seemed to loosen, though they still looked wrong.
Lunch ended.
Classes blurred past in fragments — chalk scraping, pages turning, teachers speaking in distant monotones.
Karma noticed Arya drifting again during history. His eyes fixed somewhere beyond the board. Not asleep. Not distracted by a phone. Just… elsewhere.
But Karma didn’t ask.
He had his own noise inside his head.
When the final bell rang, the three walked out together.
The winter air was colder now. Students poured through the gates in clusters.
Rey stretched. “Wanna come to my house?”
Karma shrugged. “Yeah.”
They both looked at Arya.
“You coming?” Rey asked.
Arya adjusted his bag strap. “No. I’ve got something to do.”
“What?” Rey said instantly. “Since when do you have plans?”
“Just something.”
Karma watched him carefully. The zig-zag of Arya’s neck seemed sharper today. Not coiled. But strained.
“Where are you going?” Karma asked.
“I said I’ve got something.”
They walked a few more steps together toward the main road.
A small folded paper slipped halfway out of Arya’s jacket pocket.
For a second, Karma noticed the top edge — white, crumpled slightly.
“You’re going to the pharmacy, right?” Karma said casually.
Arya froze for half a second.
Then he looked down, quickly pushing the slip back inside. “Oh. Yeah. My slip is almost out.”
Rey didn’t notice anything unusual. “What slip?”
“Nothing important,” Arya replied lightly. “Just some stuff.”
His smile returned too quickly.
The three reached the junction where their paths split.
Rey clapped Arya’s shoulder. “Don’t disappear.”
Arya smirked. “When have I ever?”
Karma held his gaze for a second longer.
For a brief moment, he thought he saw something behind Arya’s eyes — not sadness exactly. Not fear.
Just exhaustion.
Then it was gone.
“See you tomorrow,” Arya said.
He turned and walked away, hands in pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold wind.
Rey nudged Karma. “Drama king. Probably actually going to meet some girl.”
Karma forced a small laugh.
But he didn’t look away from Arya’s back until he disappeared into the crowd.
The fog didn’t return this time.
The zig-zag necks remained.
And for the first
time, Karma felt something different from guilt or fear.
A small, almost unnoticeable unease.
Like something had shifted quietly — not broken yet — but moved out of place.
He told himself it was nothing.
Then he walked with Rey in the opposite direction.
