The academy woke with its constant murmur. Children arrived running, backpacks on their shoulders, greeting, laughing, shouting. To John, all of it was neutral background, a landscape without meaning. He walked down the hallways with his back straight, measured steps, eyes forward. Every movement was exact, calculated. Emotion did not exist; only routine.
He entered the classroom and took his seat by the window, the same one as always. Not by preference, but by habit. The view of the street offered perspective, but it stirred no curiosity. The other children watched him from the corners of their eyes, whispering among themselves.
"There's the weird one again," a girl whispered.
"He doesn't talk to anyone," another said.
"They say he doesn't feel pain," a third added, half joking, half serious.
John heard every word but remained unaffected. He felt no annoyance, no fear, no sadness, no surprise. It was just information.
Ms. Evans began the lesson: reading, math, a group exercise. She approached John.
"John, why don't you join Daniel and Ashley's group?"
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice flat.
"But it's a group exercise."
"I don't need a group," he added matter-of-factly.
A silence settled over the room. The children stared, confused, uncomfortable. John did not notice; he did not comprehend their discomfort. For him, there was only the correct action: completing the task.
At recess, he went to the courtyard and sat under a tree—the same tree as always. He opened his lunchbox, ate without hurry, without emotion. Some children passed by and whispered:
"He doesn't even blink…"
"Looks like a robot…"
John heard them, evaluated their words, and remained unmoved. Laughter, mockery, curiosity—all irrelevant. The sun warmed his face, the wind moved his hair, and he felt nothing. He simply existed.
The afternoon passed in classes and exercises: history, science, language. John completed everything with precision, without asking questions, without distraction, without speaking. Others tried to approach, but he did not respond, did not interact. To them, he was strange. To him, he simply was.
At the end of the day, the children rushed toward the exit. John gathered his things and walked to the front. His father had not yet arrived. He stood by a column, watching the street, without impatience, without expectation.
Five minutes later, a car pulled up. Romeo rolled down the window and called in a warm, cheerful voice:
"There you are, champ! How was your day?"
John got into the car and responded flatly:
"Normal."
"Normal?" Romeo said with a smile. "Nothing exciting happen?"
"Nothing."
Romeo chuckled softly and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Well, I found some exciting things in traffic. But you… you make it easy, huh?" he said warmly, not expecting another answer.
As they drove, they spoke about small things. John answered in short phrases:
"Did Dad buy bread?"
"Yes, your favorite."
"Good."
At home, Camila was in the kitchen. She looked up at him and smiled, though a thread of concern lingered in her eyes.
"How was your day, John?" she asked softly.
"Fine," he replied, firm and neutral.
"Did you eat well at the academy?" she pressed.
"Yes."
Camila exhaled, a mix of relief and frustration. She knew her son did not express emotions like other children, but she understood that his answers were enough for him.
Romeo lowered his voice, glancing at both of them:
"Do you want to have a snack together before homework?" he offered cheerfully.
"No," John said automatically.
"That's fine," Romeo replied, smiling. "We can wait. I just want to spend time with you, even like this."
John simply nodded. It was not emotion, not enthusiasm. It was a logical acknowledgment of the proposal.
In silence, they continued their routines. John was present, though distant; Romeo and Camila watched him with patience and affection. The contrast was clear: a child who did not feel emotion, and parents who felt it for him, and because of him.
Each day was the same. Each movement planned. Each word heard changed nothing. To others, John was a mystery. To John, there was only routine. And Romeo and Camila remained by his side, trying to understand something that had no name yet.