Anastasius had learned that there were many ways to make someone feel unwanted without ever telling them to leave.
Sometimes it was a laugh when he walked past.
Sometimes it was a chair being pulled away just before he sat down.
Sometimes it was the way a group of students would suddenly become quiet when he approached, only to burst into laughter after he had passed them.
His name was the easiest target.
"Anastasius," one of the boys in his class had called across the room one afternoon, stretching the name out while several others laughed. "Are you sure your parents didn’t mean to name you Anastasia?"
Anastasius kept his eyes on his book.
The boy grinned when he received no response.
"What, you’re shy now?"
Another student laughed.
"Leave her alone."
More laughter followed.
Anastasius continued reading the same line without taking in a single word.
It had not always been this way. When he was younger, he used to answer back whenever someone mocked him, but every response only gave them another reason to continue, and eventually he discovered that pretending not to care was easier than giving them the satisfaction of seeing him upset.
His name was not the only thing they used against him either.
Once, during lunch, someone knocked his tray out of his hands as he walked toward an empty table, sending his food across the floor while the students nearby laughed and watched him crouch down to collect what he could.
"Damn, my bad," the boy said, although the grin on his face made it obvious that it had not been an accident.
Anastasius said nothing as he picked up his ruined lunch.
Another time, he was assigned to a group project and heard one of his classmates quietly ask whether they could have someone else instead.
"Why?"
"He barely talks."
"So?"
"He’ll just make the whole thing awkward."
They had not known he could hear them.
He had pretended that he couldn’t.
After a while, he became good at pretending.
He learned how to eat lunch alone without looking lonely, how to walk through the hallway without making eye contact, and how to smile when someone made a joke at his expense so nobody would realize that he wanted to disappear.
His home was quieter.
His parents never mocked him, and neither did his brother or sister, but Anastasius had still managed to convince himself that there was not much space for him there either.
His older brother was responsible and accomplished, the kind of son who was always being asked for help and praised whenever he achieved something, while his younger sister was still young enough to receive attention simply by asking for it. His parents were busy people who loved all their children, but Anastasius rarely told them when something was bothering him because he had already become accustomed to keeping those things to himself.
Whenever his mother asked how school had been, he said it was fine.
Whenever his father asked whether he needed anything, he said no.
Whenever his brother asked if he wanted to come along somewhere, Anastasius usually found an excuse to stay home.
Eventually, nobody had to ask anymore.
That night, Anastasius sat alone in his bedroom with a notebook resting on his knees while rain tapped softly against the window. The pages were filled with everything he had never been able to say aloud, including words for his parents, his brother and sister, the people at school, and himself.
He did not blame anyone.
Near the end, his hand remained still above the page for several seconds before he finally wrote the sentence that had been sitting inside him for years.
"I’m sorry I couldn’t become someone you could be proud of."
He stared at the words until his eyes began to burn, and when he finally looked away from the page, his hands were trembling.
A knock came from the door.
"Anastasius?"
His older brother opened the door and stepped inside.
"How was school?"
"Fine."
His brother looked at him for a moment before his eyes moved toward the notebook.
"What are you writing?"
"Nothing."
His brother reached toward it, but Anastasius pulled it against his chest.
"Don’t touch that."
His brother stopped, caught off guard by the sudden sharpness in his voice. After a moment, his expression softened.
"I don’t know what’s going on with you lately," he said quietly, "but if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me. You don’t have to deal with everything alone. I’m your older brother, and if you need help, I’ll always be there for you."
Anastasius looked away.
His brother waited for an answer, but when none came, he eventually nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Anastasius stared at the door for a long time.
He had not expected that.
A few minutes later, another knock came.
His younger sister stood in the doorway with her arms wrapped around herself as thunder shook the windows.
"Can I sleep here tonight?"
Anastasius looked at her.
"You’re scared?"
She nodded.
"I don’t like the thunder."
He moved aside, allowing her to climb into bed beside him.
After pulling the blanket over herself, she looked toward him.
"Are you scared too?"
"No."
"You’re lying."
A small smile appeared on Anastasius’s face.
"You worry too much."
She turned onto her side and watched him for a moment.
"Are you okay?"
Anastasius hesitated before nodding.
"I’m fine."
"Really?"
"Really."
She seemed satisfied and pulled the blanket closer around herself.
"I’m small, but I’m mighty, you know, so you can rely on me."
Anastasius let out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah, yeah, you’re small but mighty. Now go to sleep."
She smiled.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
She closed her eyes, and before long, her breathing became slow and peaceful while Anastasius remained awake.
His brother’s words kept returning to him, followed by his sister’s simple question and the ridiculous confidence with which she had declared herself small but mighty.
He looked toward the notebook on his desk.
Then he got up, picked it up, and slowly tore the letter apart.
The problems had not disappeared, and he still did not know how he was supposed to fix the life he had spent years struggling through, but for the first time in a long while, the thought of tomorrow did not feel unbearable.
He wanted to see it.
Anastasius looked at his sleeping sister and quietly promised himself that he would try again in the morning.
He never got the chance.
The following morning, his family went out together, with his parents in the front of the car, his older brother beside them, and his younger sister sitting next to Anastasius in the back while they talked about ordinary things that would have seemed meaningless to him only a day earlier.
As he listened to them, Anastasius found himself smiling.
For once, he did not feel like an outsider sitting among his own family.
He felt like he belonged.
But then came the blare of a horn, it was sudden and entirely too close.
Anastasius looked up just in time to see headlights cutting through the windshield. His father slammed the wheel, but there was no time. Metal shrieked against metal. Glass shattered into a million glittering fragments, and the world spun violently on its side.
Anastasius reached for his sister before he even realized what he was doing, pulling her against his chest and covering her with his body as the car crashed and rolled.
When the vehicle finally stopped, smoke filled the wreckage.
People were shouting outside.
His parents were pulled from the car, and his brother was dragged away after trying to reach him, while his younger sister was rescued from the wreckage.
Anastasius remained trapped.
The smell of burning fuel filled his lungs as rescuers struggled to reach him, and through the smoke he could hear his family screaming his name.
His brother fought against the people holding him back.
"Get him out!"
His mother was crying.
His sister kept calling for him.
"Anastasius!"
Then his brother’s voice reached him through the chaos.
"If you need help, I’ll always be there for you."
The words from the night before returned with painful clarity.
Anastasius finally understood that he had spent years looking at his family’s love and seeing absence instead, because he had been so consumed by his own loneliness that he could no longer recognize the people who had been standing beside him.
The heat pressed closer, and each breath came shorter than the one before.
He had finally chosen to live.
He had finally wanted to see tomorrow.
Yet tomorrow was already slipping away.
Outside the wreckage, his mother was still calling his name, her voice breaking with every try. His sister kept crying, begging him to wake up, while his father shouted at the rescuers and his brother fought against the people holding him back.
"Let me go! That’s my brother!"
Anastasius could still hear them as his vision faded.
For years he had believed no one would notice if he disappeared. Now the people he thought he was a burden to were desperately trying to keep him alive.
He wanted to answer them.
He wanted to tell his sister she would be okay.
He wanted to tell his brother thank you.
He wanted to apologize to his parents.
But his body no longer responded, and as his breathing grew weaker, the voices around him slowly began to fade.
He thought of the notebook.
He thought of his sister sleeping beside him.
He thought of the quiet smile that had appeared on his face that morning when he realized he wanted to live.
For the first time in his life, Anastasius had chosen tomorrow.
He simply never got to see it.
"I wanted to see what tomorrow would be like."
Then the heat, the smoke, and the sound of his family calling his name disappeared into silence.
Anastasius died at fifteen, but death was not the end of his story.