Deep was the kind of student people relied on quietly.

“Ask Deep,” they’d say.

Then a new student arrived.

Same name.

Deep.

At first, it was a joke.

“Old Deep and New Deep.”

Old Deep laughed too.

But New Deep was easier to like.

Confident. Quick. Effortless.

People stopped turning to Old Deep.

Then stopped noticing him at all.

One day, his group messaged:

“Hey… we’re switching things up.”

“It’s just easier with him.”

That was it. No argument. No explanation.

Old Deep was out. New Deep stayed.

His seat got taken.

His group was gone.

His name… stopped meaning him.

“Deep — oh, not you. The other one.”

One day, the lecturer called “Deep.”

Old Deep raised his hand.

They chose New Deep.

Old Deep slowly lowered his.

That’s when he understood.

He wasn’t being replaced all at once.

He was being erased… slowly.

“I used to be Deep.”

And somehow… no one was left to remember.