Jin hadn't spoken a single word since that night.
Death had extinguished his voice,
just as it had once extinguished the warmth in his heart.
Sophia, his grandmother,
took him from doctor to doctor.
They all said the same thing:
"There's nothing wrong with him. His throat is fine. His nerves are intact.
He simply doesn't want to speak."
What pained her the most…
was seeing him trying to scream,
trying to call out,
but the words would die in his throat before they were ever born.
The years passed slowly.
Jin lived in total silence.
He wouldn't answer,
he wouldn't smile,
he wouldn't ask.
His face became a blank mirror,
and his eyes stared as if seeing something no one else could.
Then came his sixteenth birthday.
But Jin didn't celebrate.
He hated that day.
Every time it arrived,
he felt the world collapsing again,
just like it did the day he lost his mother.
At school,
no one came near him.
No one understood him.
They feared him now,
avoiding him like a ghost walking among them.
On a gray morning,
while he was sitting silently in class,
someone knocked on the door.
The principal entered,
whispered something to the teacher,
then turned to Jin with sorrowful eyes.
"Jin… come with me."
He didn't speak,
but he stood up.
In the office,
the principal sat quietly,
then spoke in a low voice:
"I know you don't speak…
but you need to know…
Your grandmother… passed away this morning."
Time stopped.
Jin showed no reaction.
His expression didn't change.
But suddenly,
he ran.
He ran out of the school,
through fields and streets,
not knowing where he was going.
He only knew he had to reach the hospital.
He had to.
When he arrived,
it was too late.
The bed was empty,
the sheets neatly folded,
the flowers on the table had withered.
He knelt on the floor,
placed his head in his hands,
and cried.
He cried without a sound.
Tears only.
As if something inside him was exploding silently.
His grandmother had been the last person he had.
His mother died when he was young.
His father—unknown.
And now… Sophia was gone too.
At the funeral,
he didn't know what to do.
He sat in a corner,
his eyes fixed on the coffin.
He wept.
But his weeping made no sound,
as if it was only his soul that mourned.
The people around him whispered:
"Poor boy, he doesn't speak."
"Who will care for him?"
"Should we place him in an orphanage?"
Their words were daggers.
He couldn't bear it.
He left the funeral,
his eyes full of tears,
his heart burning.
He ran.
He ran without aim,
without direction,
without stopping.
The air was cold,
the sky overcast,
and the ground soaked with grief.
He ran until his strength gave out,
until his breathing tore at his chest,
until he no longer knew where he was.
He stopped.
Around him…
darkness.
He was on a street he didn't recognize.
The streetlights were broken,
and everything looked abandoned.
At the far end of the road,
he saw something move.
There was a black car
waiting beneath a large tree.
Its windows were tinted,
and it sat still, motionless.
Jin stared at it,
frozen in place.
Then, suddenly,
the car's headlights flared on.
The engine roared.
And the tires began to move rapidly—
toward Jin.
He didn't move.
It was as if he were nailed to the ground.
The white light pierced his eyes,
but he didn't blink.
The car approached.
And came closer.
His heart pounded as if it would burst.
And then,
just before it reached him…