The bell rang throughout the school. The best news of the day for anyone: time to go home.
Most of them began to gather their things, some in a hurry, others with the calm of someone who has nothing better to do. It didn't take me long. In fact, I had everything ready even before the bell rang. No one looked at me. No one cared if I left. And it was fine like that.
I left class and went downstairs. Each step took me a little further away from the noise and brought me closer to the silence I needed so much.
As I walked down the hallway, I went through my pockets and backpack, making sure I didn't forget anything. Of course... The most important thing I had forgotten: my cell phone.
I always hide it under the table, between the gaps in the grill, when the teacher comes to answer questions. And when it catches my eye, I leave it there without thinking. Damn custom.
I let out a tired sigh, turned around and started to climb the stairs again. The hallway was empty, more than usual. No one came down. No one went up. Just my footsteps, amplified by an echo that seemed too big to be so alone.
When I got to the classroom, I saw that the door was still open. The last person out had forgotten to close it. Or maybe he had left in such a hurry that he didn't even notice.
The silence that filtered from inside was strange, almost unreal, after the usual chaos of the institute. I hated this place with all my being, but... If the days were this quiet, I might not even mind coming.
I took a couple of steps toward the entrance, and then I heard it.
A voice. Sharp, irritated. The kind that gets your pulse racing as soon as you hear them. I couldn't make out what she was saying at first, but I recognized her instantly.
Aina.
Again, on the same day.
Instinctively, I crouched down, trying not to appear in his field of vision from the glass of the door.
"What are you hiding for?" I asked myself. I was just coming for my mobile. I wasn't doing anything wrong.
But then he spoke again, clearer this time. I stood still in my tracks.
"Another day when you can't pick me up." You do the same as in the previous institute..." she spat, full of irritation.
There was a loaded, uncomfortable silence. Then she resumed the conversation.
"My first day?" he grumbled. It went well... But don't change the subject!
His tone was completely different from that of the morning. Much drier. Sharper.
More... real, perhaps.
"Yes, there's someone quite unpleasant in class," he added.
The comment went through me like a blow. I felt something inside me shrink suddenly, as if someone had grabbed my heart with their hand. I put a hand to my chest, almost without realizing it.
That comment was not accidental.
It was a direct attack.
And it hurt more than I would ever admit.
I peeked carefully, barely tilting my head, just enough to watch her movements and figure out how not to cross paths with her.
"All right, I'll go home myself," she said at last.
He took the phone away from his ear and slipped it into his pocket with a dry gesture. Then he picked up his binder, slung it over his shoulder and let out a sigh that rang... tired. Nothing to do with the irritating girl of a moment ago. It was different. More human. I don't know why I noticed that.
Then he began to walk towards the door.
It took me too long to react.
"Wait... shit, it's coming this way!"
I looked at both sides of the corridor in a reflex act. But there was absolutely nothing. Not a crossing, not an open door, not a pillar to hide from. Everything was a straight, white, empty tunnel. A perfect trap.
"Shit... Shit..." I muttered under my breath, feeling my pulse quicken.
My hands trembled for a moment. I didn't know if it was for fear that she would discover me listening to her or simply because of the accumulated fatigue of the day. I stuck as close to the wall as I could, trying to make you invisible, as if that would help.
I heard his footsteps approaching.
One.
Other.
Another one.
Each one sounded like it was going to step directly on my heart.
If he went out now, he would run into me head-on. If you were expecting... I would look the same when I walked through the door. I had no escape.
And then, before I crossed the threshold, I ran to the nearest trash can and hid behind it. It was ridiculous: it only covered my body from a very specific angle. If she came out and turned in my direction... he was dead.
I gritted my teeth as I listened to his footsteps. She left the classroom with that irritating elegance that seemed to come from the factory. Luckily — miraculously — he walked to the opposite side. Every step away was a breath of air for me.
"Good!" I thought, raising my fists in a small gesture of victory that only an idiot would make hiding behind a trash can.
I didn't want to tempt fate anymore. I got up right away and entered the classroom. The silence was absolute, as if the place had been holding its breath. I walked over to my desk and, sure enough, there it was: my mobile, intact, right where I had left it. Thank all the gods existing and non-existent.
I put my mobile phone in my pocket and left the classroom without looking back. He needed air. The corridor, as quiet as before, seemed longer now. I walked quickly, down the stairs and crossed the entrance of the institute without anyone seeing me, or at least without anyone bothering to do so.
The street was cold, the kind of cold that gets under your clothes and forces you to shrug your shoulders. I adjusted my backpack and started walking towards my house. The route was always the same: three straight streets, an eternal pedestrian crossing, and then the avenue where all the cars seemed to run faster than they should. I never thought about anything along the way... but today it was impossible not to.
Aina.
His voice, his comment, his irritation directed at "someone unpleasant." I may not have said my name, but I didn't need to. I felt it directed like a punch in the stomach.
"It doesn't matter," I murmured, trying to convince myself. I don't care.
I didn't believe myself for half a second.
As I turned the corner of the supermarket, the wind hit me squarely in the face. I closed my eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. Between the dizziness of the day, the lack of food and the wounds that were still burning under the clothes, each step was heavier than the last. Even so, I continued.
Some people were leaving their homes, others were walking dogs. Life went on, alien to me. And honestly, it's better that way.
When I finally reached my doorway, my whole body was asking me to lie down on the street and stay there. But I went upstairs with that tiredness that was already customary. I took out the keys—it was always a long time to find them—and opened the door with a sigh that seemed to have been dragging on for years.
Inside, the house was silent. The kind of silence that doesn't comfort, but weighs. I put my backpack on the floor, slumped into the first chair I found, and ran a hand across my face.
"What a shitty day," I whispered.
Suddenly, my mother came out of the kitchen and poked her head through the frame of the small door that led to the hallway.
His face, marked by dark circles and some wrinkles that did not fit his age, lit up as soon as he saw me. That almost palpable joy... as if I were the only thing capable of making him smile. And to think that he has no idea about anything...
"Welcome home, my darling," he said in a warm tone, his smile spreading from ear to ear. How was the institute?
I took off my shoes and placed them together in the corner of the entrance while I answered calmly.
"Well... The professor congratulated me, as usual," I lied, as always.
My mother clapped her hands a couple of times, excited, and came over to give me a big hug, one of those that try to fix everything.
"Oh, but what a clever son I have," he said as he wrapped his arms around me. Come on, let's eat. I've made your favorite dish.
I looked down for a moment, wondering why I kept lying over and over again without stopping. I had become so good at it that no one suspected anything: no one asked questions, everyone nodded, everyone congratulated me.
I nodded silently and followed my mother into the kitchen.
I followed her into the kitchen. The warm smell of freshly cooked food hit me squarely, almost like a hug. My mother had set the table with care: clean tablecloth, cutlery lined up, two plates placed with that precision that only she had. The pot in the center still released an aromatic steam that filled the room.
"Sit down, honey," he said as he stirred something with the wooden spoon.
I slumped into my chair. My body burned inside, my muscles tense, my wounds pulling every time I took too deep a breath. And yet, when she turned to me with that proud smile, I had to hold her gaze and return a small grimace that was meant to be a smile.
I didn't deserve to see her like that. I didn't deserve their trust.
He served my plate carefully, as if every spoonful was a gift. I lowered my eyes, avoiding the reflection on the surface of the broth.
"And what did the professor tell you?" He asked as he sat down across from me. "I'm sure you've been happy to have a boy as diligent as you."
"Yes... He said I wish they were all like me," I lied again, without hesitation.
She smiled, that smile that always broke my chest inside. He looked at me for a second longer, with that twinkle in his eyes that mixed love and pride.
"Your father would be so proud...
My hand closed into a fist under the table. I felt my knuckles tighten, wounded skin that immediately complained. I blinked and took a deep breath.
"Mom," I murmured, trying to sound natural, "eat before it cools down.
She laughed softly.
"You're right, you're right. "And he began to eat."
I saw her put the first spoonful in her mouth, happy, oblivious. Totally unrelated.
And as I did the same, feigning normality, a twinge of guilt pierced my stomach. Not because of the wounds, not because of the fights, not because of the debt. No. To see her sit in front of me with that innocent glow, not knowing that her son came home every day thankful that he had survived.
"You arrived a little later than usual today, didn't you?" He asked suddenly, without malice.
I stood still for a moment.
"Yes... The professor held us back to comment on a few things," I made up without blinking.
She nodded, agreed. And I kept eating, swallowing not the food, but the lies.
Lies that kept sinking something inside me.
"And those wounds?" My mother asked, her concern tensing her voice. She sat up slightly, ready to run off to get the medicine cabinet.
I followed his gaze to my arm. I had rolled up my sleeves so as not to stain my uniform when eating... and I forgot that right there was one of the most visible cuts. I rolled down my sleeve and rested both hands on the table, trying to make it look natural.
"They are... of the boxing class," I replied, though I didn't believe my own excuse.
She sat down slowly, not taking her eyes off my sleeve, as if she could see through the fabric.
"Are you sure you don't need me to cure it?" He insisted.
I didn't answer. I just finished what little was left on the plate, feeling his gaze fixed on me. When I was done, I took the dish to the sink.
"You don't have to," I said at last. I've already applied disinfectant.
I paused, looking for the softest way to close the conversation.
"I'm going to the room... I want to sleep for a while.
Without waiting for an answer, I turned around and left the kitchen.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see how my mother lowered her gaze towards the plate. His smile was completely gone. She went from happiness to worry in a matter of seconds... all for a simple wound. Or at least, for what she believed was simple.
I climbed the stairs quietly, and when I reached my room, I closed the door carefully. I fell flat on my face on the bed, feeling the mattress cushion the weight of everything I was carrying.
Within four hours he had boxing class. And though exhaustion crushed me inside, I couldn't afford to rest too much. I needed to improve, polish every mistake, every slow reaction. Another fight awaited me at the weekend. One that I couldn't lose.
Winning was not an option.
It was a necessity.