The day boredom stopped by... 🤠

It was a Sunday that felt like a Monday pretending to nap.

Ayu lay sprawled on the floor of his room, staring at the ceiling fan as it turned with the same rhythm as his thoughts — slow, pointless, and tired of itself. His phone battery was dead. The Wi-Fi was out. Even the lizard on the wall had moved on to more exciting corners.

“I’m bored,” he whispered to no one in particular, hoping the universe might send help.

Just then, there was a knock.

Not on the door. Not on the window. But somewhere inside his mind. A soft, peculiar knock — like the sound of a raindrop tapping on memory.

“Hello?” he blinked.

“I’m Boredom,” said a voice, clear and calm. “Mind if I stay for a while?”

Ayu sat up. “You’re already here.”

Boredom shrugged — a tall figure in beige, with socks that didn’t match and a book half-read. “I’m often misunderstood, you know. People think I’m useless. But I carry hidden doors.”

“Doors?” Ayu raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Boredom smiled. “To imagination. To curiosity. To the parts of you that you only meet when everything else falls silent.”

The room stayed still. Ayu tilted his head, suddenly remembering the half-filled diary under his bed. The book he hadn’t touched in months. The tiny bonsai on his window sill that had quietly grown three new leaves.

Boredom leaned in. “You see, I’m not here to annoy you. I’m just a mirror… showing you all the corners you’ve forgotten to visit.”

By evening, Ayu had written a page of poetry, solved word puzzles and found a story in the pattern of raindrops on his window.

And when night came, Boredom stood to leave.

“Leaving so soon?” Ayu smiled.

“Only for now,” said Boredom, fading into the shadows. “Call me when the noise gets too loud again.”