Chapter 1 The things I never quite understand

The Things I Never Quite Understood

I don't remember the exact moment I became lonely. I only remember that, one morning, I woke up and realised that silence had become the only conversation I never struggled to maintain.

My name is Azriel. I'm twenty-three, and I suppose I'm at that age where people expect you to have some idea of what you're doing with your life.

I don't.

Well, not entirely.

Most days are ordinary. I wake up, check my phone, occasionally ignore a few messages, eat something if I remember to, and get on with whatever the day has planned for me. I talk to people, laugh at their jokes, make jokes of my own and sometimes have conversations that leave me smiling long after they've ended.

I wouldn't describe myself as unhappy.

That would be unfair, especially considering the life I've had.

I have a family. Both my parents are around, I have siblings from different sides of the family, and there's my younger sister, who probably knows more about my habits than I'd like her to.

My father is a good man. He's the kind of person who believes that taking care of his family is one of the greatest ways to show love. He's not particularly good at expressing how he feels, though. Sometimes I wish he would say certain things instead of assuming I already know them.

My mother is different.

There's something about her that I've never quite understood. She's a loving woman, but I've always noticed a certain sadness in her. It's difficult to explain. She laughs, gets annoyed over little things, worries about everyone and goes about her day, but every now and then, I catch an expression on her face that makes me wonder what she's thinking about.

I've never really asked.

Perhaps I should have.

Then there's my sister. She's younger than me, and if there's one person who can get on my nerves without putting in much effort, it's her. But I suppose that's part of having a younger sibling.

Despite everything, I love my family.

I really do.

Which makes the next part a little difficult to explain.

I've felt lonely for as long as I can remember.

Not the kind of loneliness that comes from having nobody to call or nowhere to go. I've never really lacked company. There have always been people around me.

Even as a child, I could be quite playful. I enjoyed making people laugh, spending time with friends and being part of whatever was happening around me.

But I also had moments when I'd suddenly become quiet.

Sometimes I'd sit somewhere and watch everyone doing their own thing. I'd listen to conversations, observe people and occasionally wonder what was going through their minds.

I don't know why I did that.

I still do it, actually.

It's funny because people who know me would probably disagree with the idea that I'm a lonely person. I'm not always quiet, and I certainly know how to have a good time.

I can laugh with someone today and spend the evening wondering whether they actually enjoyed my company.

I know how ridiculous that sounds.

Believe me, I'm aware.

But that's the thing about thoughts. They don't always care whether they make sense.

It was raining the evening I started thinking about all this again.

I was in my room, doing absolutely nothing important. My phone was beside me, and I'd been scrolling through it for longer than I cared to admit.

There were messages I hadn't replied to and a few conversations I had already forgotten about.

I checked the time.

Then checked it again a few minutes later.

I wasn't waiting for anyone. At least, I don't think I was.

I put my phone down and looked towards the window.

The rain was getting heavier.

I have always liked rainy evenings. There's something comforting about them, especially when you're indoors and don't have anywhere to be. The sound makes everything feel a little slower.

My sister had asked me something earlier that day.

"Why do you always look like you're thinking about something?"

I laughed and told her I wasn't.

She gave me that look younger sisters seem to have perfected, the one that suggests they know you're lying but can't be bothered to investigate further.

I remember laughing about it afterwards.

Or perhaps I'm remembering that part differently.

I don't know.

Anyway, her question stayed with me.

Why do I always look like I'm thinking about something?

Maybe because I am.

I think about conversations I've had, things I should have said and things I probably shouldn't have said. Sometimes I remember something from years ago and spend an unreasonable amount of time wondering why it happened the way it did.

There are also people I haven't spoken to in a long time who occasionally cross my mind.

Not because I miss all of them.

Sometimes I just wonder how they're doing.

I suppose that's normal.

At least, I hope it is.

There's something else I've never quite understood about people.

We can spend years around someone and still know very little about what goes on inside their head.

We know their favourite food, the music they listen to, the things that annoy them and even how they take their tea.

But ask them what they're afraid of, what they regret or what they think about when they're alone, and suddenly the conversation becomes difficult.

I'm not exempt from that either.

There are things I haven't told anyone. Not because they're particularly terrible or because I'm hiding some great secret.

I just never know how to bring them up.

And sometimes, by the time I find the words, the moment has passed.

I've had people who cared about me. People who checked on me, remembered little details and made an effort to be around.

I don't want anyone reading this to think I was unloved.

I wasn't.

Perhaps that's what makes it harder to explain.

How can you complain about feeling alone when there are people who genuinely love you?

I've asked myself that question more times than I can count.

I still don't have an answer.

The rain eventually stopped, although I hadn't noticed exactly when.

I picked up my phone, replied to one of the messages I'd ignored earlier and returned to scrolling.

Nothing particularly interesting happened that night.

I went to bed, woke up the following morning and continued with my life.

But I've been thinking about that question ever since.

Perhaps loneliness isn't always about having nobody.

Perhaps it's possible to have people who love you and still feel like there's a part of you nobody has ever really met.

I don't know.

I'm still trying to figure that out.

And if I'm being honest, I'm not entirely sure I want to find out what the answer is.