We've only got one week before end of 2nd term exams start. This is usually when I lock in, study, focus, no distractions. But now? I open my books and nothing sticks. Every evening prep, she used to book a place for me in the library. She'd save the seat like it belonged to me. Now I just walk in and sit anywhere, and it feels wrong. In class, we used to whisper when things got boring. She'd nudge me under the desk, roll her eyes when teachers repeated themselves. Now the silence beside me is loud. Too loud. I've started finding another classroom to stay in whenever it's not breaktime or lunchtime. I can't sit in ours for long. I can't act normal when she's right there pretending I don't exist. She looks different now. Quieter. Smaller. She walks in with no mood, no spark, straight to the library. Back ten minutes before supper. In the dining room, she eats fast. No music. No vibing. No teasing me for eating too slow. She finishes her plate and disappears again. In the morning, I heard she's the first one in class. She prays, writes notes, does exercises. Fifteen minutes before breakfast, she's reading her novel. She doesn't even drink her porridge anymore. If she's not revising, she's journaling. Or reading. Or sleeping. And the worst part? I'm the one who said we should stop. I thought it would make things easier. But now everything feels off, like I lost something I wasn't ready to lose. And I can't study either.
We were sitting in class, our range shouting as usual. They've all noticed we stopped talking, and ever since, they've been trying everything to fix it. Every morning I walk in and greet all of them. Except Anna. She doesn't even look at me. She just keeps reading her novels like I don't exist. Now they're talking about my birthday. Everyone's excited. Everyone except her. So I start from the first desk to the last, asking each of them what they're getting me. Laughing. Playing along. Except her. "You skipped someone!" they shout. Of course I did. But I didn't want them making it a big deal. "It's our secret," I say casually. "We already know. It's just between us. None of your business." They all scream and turn to her. "Is it true?!" She doesn't even look at me. She just nods once… and goes back to reading. Like it doesn't affect her. Like I don't. I stand up immediately and go talk to her deskmate instead. I laugh louder than necessary. I make sure my chair scrapes against the floor. Petty. I think it annoys her. But she keeps reading anyway. So we shout even more until she finally gets up and leaves the classroom.
The bell rings, and that's when I realize she didn't leave because of us. It was just the end of class. We all head back to the dorms, but ours were closed. She took the longer way to theirs, so we got there before her. When she passes by us, she doesn't even slow down. Same serious face. Shielding her eyes from the sun. Walking alone, quick, like she has somewhere important to be. Later, I leave the dorm to watch the others play. I'd already argued with the coach and stopped playing. He kept saying volleyball is different from solving math problems, like that meant I couldn't block properly. Like he could beat me because I missed one ball. I don't feel like proving anything. Then I see her. She's by the tap, holding a hanger with her shirt on it, soap in its container, and a bucket filled with water. Probably going to shower. And I just stand there. Watching. My mind won't shut up. Does she miss me? Does she care? Does she want to talk? Or am I the only one feeling like this? "You can go talk to her instead of staring like that," Elliot's voice snaps me out of it. "What if someone sees you looking at her like that? You want to explain yourself to Mary now?"
Mary comes to my mind. We haven't talked in days. I heard she's been sick, but she didn't tell me herself—her friends had to. I went to see her once this week. I think I'll see her again on the weekend, during movie time… if she even shows up with exams starting Monday. Anna used to help me know what stories to tell her. Mary can't say a single word when we're together—I do all the talking. I've always wanted to break up, but Anna insists I wait until graduation. Still thinking about that, Angie, her best friend, came to tell me I need to go see Mary. She's not in sickbay anymore. Great. More work for me: studying, thinking about what we'll talk about, knowing she won't open up about how she's feeling. I felt hungry. Had to find an extra plate. Elliot was hungry too. I don't have money. I can't even ask Anna for hers—I told her we won't talk anymore, and I've acted cold ever since. She has to understand that. She must respect me. Beating me or insulting me is unforgivable. She disrespected me so much it hurt… so badly that I don't think it'll ever heal. After watching her walk away, I finally tore my eyes off her and headed to the dorm. I needed a shower, needed to wash off the tension that stuck to my skin like sweat and regret. The water was cold, stinging at first, but it helped—just a little. My thoughts didn't calm down, though. Even under the spray, I could still feel her presence everywhere, like a shadow I couldn't shake.
By the time I got dressed, it was nearly time for evening prep. I grabbed my bag and made my way to the accounting classroom where a few of my volleyball friends usually studied. I figured if I went there, I'd at least get some focus. At worst, I'd pretend I was busy. As soon as I walked in, though, the moment I sat down, the whole room shifted. The books stayed closed. Conversations started. And before I knew it, the entire session had turned into a debate about FC Barcelona—matches, goals, players, insane plays from last season. No one opened a textbook. No one solved a single problem. The whole prep session was gone, wasted on opinions, jokes, and mock arguments. I tried to focus a few times, but my eyes kept wandering. I imagined Anna in the library, or Mary quietly staring at the notebook I'd bring to her. I shook my head. I was supposed to be studying, but my mind refused. Every play of Barcelona's last match reminded me that I wasn't in control of anything. Not my thoughts, not my schedule, not even my own focus. By the end of the evening, the accounting classroom was full of laughter and half-finished discussions. And me? I hadn't studied a thing. Prep wasted again. I slang my bag over my shoulder and left, feeling heavier than when I had walked in. Tomorrow, I'll try again… maybe. But somehow I know it won't get any easier, not while she was still occupying every corner of my thoughts.