That s What I Know

Disclaimer:

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, people, cultures, religions, or national issues is purely coincidental. The content is not intended to offend, disrespect, or misrepresent any individual or group. The author deeply values cultural diversity and respects all beliefs.

1 – Ilya the superstar

South Korea,

Seoul,

Year 20XX

The spacious room was bathed in soft amber light, shadows pooling in the corners like secrets unspoken. A faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, clean and carefully curated, while a wall of untouched books loomed like silent spectators. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the distant hum of the city seemed worlds away, muted and surreal.

"How are you feeling, Finn?"

On the comfortable water-blue sofa sat a man in professional attire, his pure white doctor's coat crisp and spotless. Opposite him was another man, still wearing a mask and sunglasses, even indoors.

"Do I have to feel something different? And call me Ilya," came the curt reply.

It was hard to discern any emotion behind the mask and sunglasses.

The doctor leaned back, unruffled. "Didn't you say 'Ilya' makes you feel unfamiliar?"

"That's why I like being called Ilya," he replied flatly.

"Fine, Ilya," the doctor conceded. "Are you still having suicidal thoughts?"

"The world and people around me feel strange and unfamiliar," Ilya said, his tone detached. "It's like I don't belong here, as if dying would take me to where I'm truly meant to be."

The doctor paused thoughtfully. "Have you ever considered raising a pet?"

"What's there to consider about?" Ilya's response was indifferent.

"You've built a wall around yourself since childhood," the doctor explained. "It's stopping you from opening up emotionally to the people around you. Maybe an innocent, loyal companion without any greed could help you."

________________________________________

Ilya's POV

I am Finn Willson.

The world knows me as Ilya, a good-looking, good-natured rising star.

Today, I turned twenty-two. No one knows it, not even my parents, who gave birth to me. They've forgotten. Even my fans don't know my real birthday; my agency set a fake one because I was born on an 'unlucky' day.

So, what am I doing special on my birthday?

Visiting my psychiatrist.

As I left his office, I couldn't shake the thought: this was always a waste of time. Ten years of therapy, and it never helped. I've watched that so-called doctor grow from a one-room clinic in an alleyway to this spacious, polished office, and yet nothing about me has changed.

Sliding into the driver's seat of my car, I muttered curses under my breath. That damn doctor. Ten years, and he couldn't help me even once.

Life felt like a never-ending cycle of exhaustion. Meaningless. Pointless. Just existing.

Pulling off my mask and sunglasses, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Messy hair. Dark circles carving deep into my cheeks. I looked like hell.

You might wonder why I even keep going to therapy.

It's simple. I've had dreams, and nightmares, really, since I was a kid.

Dreams of killing my siblings.

Waking up in those dreams only to see myself dead instead. The dreams don't stop, and insomnia has become my constant companion. Those violent urges don't just haunt my nights; they linger all day, especially when I see my siblings. Every time I look at them, I feel an overwhelming urge to slit their throats.

Yeah, I know I'm sick.

My thoughts were spiraling again, reaching that dangerous point where the desire to kill myself, or them, rose to the surface. That's when my phone buzzed with a notification.

'Happy birthday, my dear Finn. I hope your coming days are filled with love and happiness.'

Seeing the message, I couldnt help but smile. A soft, sweet smile that felt foreign on my face.

I was seventeen the first time I tried to kill myself. That incident had been enough to make my parents finally notice my condition.

They locked their precious children away from me after that, but little else changed. Insomnia stayed, and so did the thoughts.