The day he was born had long since passed, not that he remembered it. He knew no one, loved no one, and no one loved him. His needs were barely met, but somehow, he managed. A boy with spiky black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin, he existed in a cramped room with no name, no purpose, and no identity. He learned by watching, picking up what little he could.
One day, the door was left open. He stared at it, unsure. Beyond it lay a world of colour, vast and terrifying. It took him days to step outside. Whoever had been tending to him was gone, and so, left with no other choice, he became an explorer, though at his age, he barely understood what that meant.
He wandered through the vibrant world, drifting aimlessly until he found a house. Abandoned, empty. It became his home. Perhaps he was lucky, or perhaps he was simply stubborn, but he survived despite not knowing how. He ate whatever looked like food, spitting it out if it tasted strange. He drank whatever seemed like water, though that led to sickness, pain, and lessons learned the hard way.
In that house, he discovered something remarkable: television.
By chance, while fiddling with a remote, the screen flickered to life. A man appeared, speaking. Tobi's eyes widened. Someone like him! He tried speaking back, repeating the words, mimicking the tone, but there was no response. He kept trying, again and again, until he realized the man wasn't listening.
Still, he watched.
Days turned into months. His life became routine: eating, drinking, watching, and sleeping. But Tobi was a quick learner. He picked up words, learned their meanings, and eventually began speaking properly. The man on the television became his only companion, and though he never spoke back, Tobi spoke to him anyway.
And then, one day, someone new appeared. a woman.
A mother. That was what she was called. A mother was someone who took care of you, someone who loved you. Was that what she was to him? Tobi wasn't sure, but he wanted to believe it. He reached toward her and tried to embrace her the only way he knew how by pressing against the screen.
The television tipped.
With a crash, it fell onto him, the weight crushing his small frame. Pain flared through his body, but he pushed, tiny hands trembling as he struggled to lift it. Inch by inch, he freed himself. When he finally managed to push the screen aside, he saw only shattered glass and silence.
The mother was gone.
Alone again.
Something inside him cracked. He wanted to cry, but he didn't know how. No one had ever taught him. No one had ever comforted him. And so, eventually, he stopped trying.
Who was he?
Why was he here?
He had no answers. He was no better than a corpse, but still he refused to die so the boy left.
The boy looked for someone, anyone, to love him. That was his goal: connection.
One day, he met a man named Joe. Joe was strange but kind, in his own way. He gave the boy odd jobs, simple tasks: take something from point A to point B and don't let the bad guys catch you. So, Tobi did just that. He was good at it persistent, quick, and clever. People overlooked him, found him strange, and dismissed him as unimportant. But that was fine. Joe noticed him. Joe praised him.
That was enough.
The things he delivered were strange, but he never questioned them. Sometimes, he was paid. He never used the money himself. He didn't know what to do with it.
Then, one day, Joe sent him somewhere new.
That was when he met Tom.
Unlike Joe, Tom wasn't kind. He was cruel and violent. He hurt Tobi without reason; he beat him for no purpose. He made everyone around him uncomfortable, especially the girls. But Tobi didn't care about them. He cared only for Joe.
Until the girl.
She was younger than him, small, and fragile. She had been hurt and beaten, just like him. And yet, she reached for him, tugged at his shirt, seeking something from him that he didn't understand. Was this love? He didn't know. But maybe, just maybe, it was.
So when Tom came again, Tobi struck first.
It was weak and pathetic. His small fist barely made an impact.
Tom's anger turned on him in an instant.
Pain exploded through his body. He was weightless, flying before crashing to the ground, limbs twisting like a ragdoll. The world blurred in a haze of agony.
And yet, as he lay there, broken, he saw the girl being comforted by the others. Held and soothed. Protected.
No one came for him.
No one ever did.
When he woke on the cold floor, he wasn't sure how much time had passed. He sat up, adjusted his tattered clothes, and got ready to work again.
The girl never thanked him. She never spoke to him again. It had been a fleeting moment and nothing more.
But it left something behind.
More came to him after that: others in need. He helped them, protected them, and fought for them. They never thanked him either.
Was this love?
He still didn't know.
Tobi continued his work. He was tenacious, efficient, and far more valuable than anyone realized. If he weren't so good at what he did, he probably would have died. He just didn't know that yet.
The only person he truly cared for was Joe.
But Joe had been gone for a long time now.
And what Tobi didn't realize was that he would never see him again.
One day, Tobi sat by himself again.
He had bought food with the money he'd earned and the food was better than usual. As he ate, he noticed a building ahead, different from the rest. A library.
Curious, he wandered inside.
He was promptly kicked out.
Dismayed but not discouraged, he returned after hours, slipping inside unnoticed. No one ever noticed him. They never had.
He stole a few books and read them in secret.
At first, it was simple curiosity, but as he read, he learned more than he ever had before. Knowledge filled the empty spaces inside him. The more he understood, the colder his gaze became.
He stopped helping people.
He helped only himself.
He earned more money, took only what he needed, and kept to himself.
And still, he read.
With each page, with each stolen book, his understanding grew. And then, one day, he had read enough to realize the truth:
No one had ever loved him.
Should that have hurt? Maybe.
But he didn't know what to feel about it.
Perhaps the books were wrong. Perhaps, somewhere, someone had loved him.
He doubted it.
People stuck together. They formed bonds. Yet no one had ever stayed with him.
How strange.
How perplexing.
He was an oddity, he thought. Someone meant to be alone. A boy who should never have known love, who should never have learned of it.
And yet, love he did.
Not for anyone. Not for anything.
Only for the concept itself.
For love was something nobody could love.