Reaching our class, we parted to our seats.
She walked towards the back of the room, slipping into her usual chair while I took my seat at the front.
She was surrounded by her group of friends within seconds, her carefree laughter blending effortlessly with theirs.
"..."
It was always like this.
Her cold, detached personality didn't push people away... it pulled them in—even when I knew it didn't felt right.
They admired it.
The way she effortlessly carried herself, the way she didn't seem to care too much.
It all felt intoxicating—like standing near someone who wouldn't flinch if the world collapsed. Someone who wouldn't hide behind someone's back just because they couldn't utter a word. Someone you could rely on—and who would never ask you to carry them back. Though I'd like to remind myself that these are just based on my perception—and perceptions have a habit of lying.
The school bell rang, jolting me away from my thoughts.
It meant class was about to start, the confines of small enjoyment beginning to end.
[ A Few Minutes Passed ]
Not a single teacher came.
"...They're probably running late or just didn't bother."
"I hope it's the former..." I muttered, unsure why this lie feels comforting.
I searched around me and landed on my seatmate. She was quiet, occasionally tapping her pen on the desk. I wanted to initiate a conversation but refrained—afraid that even silence would feel louder if I interrupted it. Not that I didn't want to, I just couldn't muster up the courage. It looked like she was lost in her own thoughts and I didn't want to be a bother.
There wasn't much to do anyway but scribble on my notebook. When I pulled it out, tons of random doodles appeared before me. Judging by the amountof pages I had to turn before a blank page showed up, it wasn't the first time I'd done this. I was just glad I had something to spend the time on.
...I'm probably gonna talk to her later.
————————————————————
[ Flashbacks? ]
I dreamed that night.
I was in the process of telling her — my "■•■?■■ ."
Words tumbled out, as if they'd been waiting for someone to speak them.
I told her of my dream.
How my family was well --really well.
How my father's eyes were full of hope rather than hunger.
How my mother's shoulders weren't hunched over from exhaustion.
How, for once, we had enough.
I explained to her my ?■? birthday— the cake, the candles, the aroma of actual food heating the walls of our tiny kitchen.
My father hoisting me up high, his laugh ringing through our house like a guarantee that the world was good.
My mother applauding, her smile so big it nearly appeared genuine again.
My parents sharing bites of cake with each other, joking, laughing — like love was simple, like it would always remain.
I explained to her how my father kissed my forehead and told me,
"See, sweetheart? We're gonna be okay. Always."
And I'd believed him.
I was ??■ — why wouldn't I?
At ■■?, you believe in parents the way you believe in daylight.
Unshakeable.
That's what I told her.
The sweet spots.
The sweetness.
But within, I knew the truth that came with it.
That birthday —the candles, the laughter. it didn't remain a dream.
It became real.
And reality always asks something in return.
I recalled waking to the sound of my father's voice— soft, then harsh.
Words like shards of glass, slicing walls.
I recalled my mother's silence — weighty, rooted in where love once resided.
I recalled the sound of a door slamming, the pain of a promise that couldn't be kept.
I recalled the way the cake went stale on the counter, unopened.
The way the heat leaked out of our home, as if it had never existed.
I didn't say any of that to her.
Only the dream.
Only the fragments that still shone golden when I held them up to the light.
I made her think that I dreamed of a family that remained intact.
For if I spoke the rest aloud, it would become too real again.
And when I went silent, I wondered—
In my ■■?•? Life, I wonder if I got to live happily again?
[ … ]
——————————————————
I wanted to tell her about my dream.
It felt so real that I wanted to share it to someone who would understand.
But I hesitated.
For some reason, words just refused to come out my mouth.
...
Forget it. It's not like she'll believe it.
Besides— today was my birthday.
Ohh Waitttt— does she remember my birthday?
A small, ridiculous part of me hoped she did.
I wasn't sure why.
Maybe because, if she did, it meant she cared enough to hold onto something small. Something mine.
Deciding I needed to know, I asked her in a very casual tone, because that's what ■•■?■■ do.
"Brooo, remember what day today isss??
She blinked, tilting her head. "March 2… What about it?"
I felt something inside me sink.
But before it could settle -
Her eyes widened. "Oh wait— ohh flipp —HAPPY BIR —"
I clamped my hand over her mouth before she could finish.
I sighed in relief, glancing around the room.
Nobody seemed to bat an eye.
"That was so close-- bruh"
I smiled, rubbing the back of my neck.
Then, without really thinking, I asked —
"Ohh, and by the way, any plans on coming to my house to celebrate my birthday?"
My voice wavered slightly.
I hadn't meant for it to.
I didn't even know why I was hoping so badly that she'd say yes.
She blinked at me before grinning.
"Yeahh— why wouldn't I?"
She said it so easily.
Like it wasn't even a question.
Like it was obvious.
For a second, I just stared.
A laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down.
"Yeah… why wouldn't you."
My voice was quieter this time.
Less playful.
More uncertain.
[ … ]
I glanced at her.
She didn't seem to notice the shift in my tone.
Or if she did, she pretended not to.
Her mind was already elsewhere— probably picturing the food, knowing her.
And me?
I looked at the back of the room.
I was stuck on the memory of the first and only time I'd ever invited HER.
The way she had rejected it.
So effortlessly.
So carelessly.
Like it meant nothing at all.
After that, I stopped inviting people.
Because rejection hurts.
More than people realize.
More than I knew how to handle.
And yet—
I turned to look at her again.
My seatmate, my ■•■?■■.
She had said yes.
Just like that.
.... I thought she wouldn't accept.. Just like her-
[ … ]
————————————————————
Something in me stirred.
Without thinking, I grabbed my seatmate's shoulders, shaking her lightly.
"Whaaaa— are you serious??? Whatttt —"
I wasn't even sure why I was so excited.
But she only laughed.
"So.… what time?"
"Well, don't be late! It'll start at 6:00 in the afternoon, but I'm sure it'll start an hour late due to late guests."
She raised an eyebrow. "So... 7:00 pm, then?"
I nodded aggressively.
For the first time in a long while, I felt genuinely happy.
And then—
The class representative took a seat at the front of the room, clapping their hands together.
"Alright, guys!! The subject teacher for this hour won't be coming in today, so she said we can do whatever we want until her time ends."
The classroom erupted into cheers.
A rare free period.
For most students, it was a good thing.
For me…
I wasn't so sure.
Because the silence always felt heavier for me than it did for everyone else.
[ .... ]
Since gadgets weren't allowed in our school, most students filled the time by chatting or playing whatever games they could come up with, since teachers rarely came.
I usually ended up hoping for that rare chance,
That a teacher would still show up and fill the silence.
My seatmate, though?
She thrived in it.
She could joke, play, distract herself so easily—while I sat there, struggling to fill the silence between us.
And yet, even when I tried to talk to her, our conversations never lasted long.
She'd always ind a way to cut them short, her attention drifting elsewhere.
She never really shared herself with anyone.
And as much as I wanted to open up to her, to let her in, I felt like I was the only one who cared enough to try.
So, after a while... I stopped.
—————————————————
I shook the thoughts away, forcing a grin. Maybe it was a weak attempt at masking everything, but it was something.
She caught my expression and, for a moment, gave me a small smile in return.
Because when my eyes met hers again…
Her face was the same as before. Quiet. Distant. Unreadable.
She sat by the window, sunlight casting shadows over her face.
And for a split second, I thought I saw something there.
Something distant. Something unreadable.
Something I wasn't sure I wanted to understand.
I swallowed.
Can I really trust [ Jane ]?
Can I really call her my ■•■?■■—?
Info 1:
[ ■•■?■■ – means = not sure if a friend or foe. ]