The Classmates' Pity
The teacher had been trying the whole time to somehow keep the lesson going. He explained formulas, scribbled runes on the board, but no one listened. The whispering about Tamara—her family, her disappearance—was stronger.
Finally, he set the chalk down. His gaze drifted across the rows and paused briefly on Marion, whose face was as pale as the parchment in front of him. Then he let out a heavy sigh.
"This is pointless." His voice was quiet, almost fragile. "We're ending the lesson here. Go to break."
Chairs scraped back, quills dropped, and a hum of voices filled the room. But the usual liveliness was missing. No one laughed, no one spoke freely. Everything was muted, heavy.
Marion rose slowly, as if every step weighed twice as much. He felt the stares before he even reached the hallway.
"Marion…" A girl he barely knew suddenly stood beside him, her eyes full of pity. "I'm so sorry. She was your girlfriend…"
He nodded silently, his throat tight.
Farther down the corridor, a boy put a hand on his shoulder. "Hang in there. No one should have to go through something like that."
Someone else murmured, "That's rough…"
Words came from all sides—careful looks, hands reaching to touch him, as if they could heal something. But every word, every glance cut deeper.
They pity me.
Inside him there was nothing but emptiness. No tears left, no anger. Just the feeling that he was already dead on the inside.
He moved like a shadow through the hallway, nodding mechanically when someone spoke to him, but everything bounced off him. It didn't feel like he was living—only that he was still here, inside a body, while everything that mattered had already passed.
Marion knew: he had loved her. And now there was nothing left of her—except memories, and a pain that was slowly eating him alive.
Alone Under the Tree
Marion couldn't bring himself to return to the classroom. The words, the stares, the pity of his classmates—it was too much. Instead, he went out into the courtyard and sat beneath an old chestnut tree, its leaves whispering softly in the wind.
The sun was pale, a washed-out glow behind gray clouds. The students' voices carried from far away, muffled, as if he no longer belonged to them.
Marion pulled his knees to his chest and leaned his back against the rough trunk. He stared into the branches, but saw nothing. Only images in his head.
Tamara smiling at him when he stumbled over his words again.
Tamara taking his hand when he gave her the little copper-rose amulet.
Tamara brushing her hair back in the evening light before kissing him.
Then the same eyes—swollen from crying. The words that destroyed everything: "A year ago, a vampire lady came to me…"
And the knife in her hand.
The screams.
The blood.
Marion pressed his hands to his eyes, but the images kept burning.
I loved her.
But now she was gone.
Her family dead.
And she herself—vanished, a shadow in the night.
He felt love, pain, and guilt all at once, knotted together until he couldn't tell one from another. For a year he had believed he'd arrived somewhere. That he'd found a place he could belong.
And yet he had remained what he always was.
A gust of wind made the leaves rustle, cold though it wasn't winter yet. Marion pulled his legs tighter in. He felt empty, like a vessel drained of everything.
Maybe it was never real. Maybe it had been nothing but Tessa's game from the start.
No tears came. Even those had dried up.
So he sat there, alone under the tree, while the academy kept living around him—and inside him everything stood still.
Life Goes On
After a few days, it was as if nothing had happened. Today it was exams again, homework, rivalries, and the usual gossip. The academy—this microcosm of young voices—didn't let any fate slow it down for long.
Jenny entered the room, perfectly put together as always—maybe even more than usual. Her hair gleamed, her makeup was flawless, and her posture was so untouchable that no one dared meet her eyes. She even laughed, a bright, exaggerated giggle, as if the night before had never existed.
Katie whispered to her friend about a new dress, Selina explained something to Adrian about ranks in the capital, and Lukas and Basti were already snorting at the first meaningless jokes.
"Duh-huh-huh! Did you see that? Duh-huh-huh!"
"Bro, that was so dumb!"
Their voices filled the room—crude, annoying, but full of life.
Tobia and Manuel sat beside Marion, tossing paper balls back and forth, teasing each other, laughing at every cheap line.
Everything was back to normal.
Just not for Marion.
He sat in his seat in silence, eyes fixed on the blank parchment in front of him. The quill in his hand didn't move. He heard the laughter, the whispering, the bickering—but it was as if it came from far, far away.
Inside him there was only silence. A cold, heavy silence that separated him from everyone else.
Yesterday they had still whispered about Tamara, looked affected, lowered a few heads, patted his shoulder. And today? Today she was only a shadow, a side note.
The world had turned on.
Marion felt his chest tighten, as if something inside were pressing against his ribs. Everyone moves on… only I'm left behind.
He lifted his head briefly and saw Jenny touching up her lipstick, as if it were the most important thing in the world. He saw Tobia wrestling with Manuel, half in play. He saw Lukas and Basti laughing until they cried at something that wasn't even a joke.
And he felt invisible.
Invisible and abandoned.
Tamara is gone. And no one cares anymore. Only me.
He squeezed the quill so hard it splintered, leaving a black blot of ink on the parchment. No one noticed.
The lesson began, the teacher talked, daily life rolled on.
And Marion sat there in silence, carrying the weight of a year of happiness—and one single evening of nightmare.
His world was broken—while everyone else's kept spinning.
Vania
Break dragged on. Students ran past laughing, traded parchments, bounded down the steps into the courtyard. Only Marion sat quietly on a bench at the edge, head lowered, eyes fixed on the ground.
He heard their voices, their laughter, but it didn't reach him. It was like a wall between him and the world—transparent, but impossible to cross.
"Hey."
He lifted his head slightly. Vania stood beside him. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, and in her hands she held a red apple. She smiled carefully, almost hesitantly.
"How are you?"
Marion only shrugged.
Vania simply sat down next to him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. For a while she was silent, looking at the apple in her hand—then she placed it in front of him. "Here. For you."
He looked at the apple, said nothing. Finally he gave a small nod, as if to show he understood.
Something reflected in her eyes he couldn't quite read: gentle pity paired with a firm conviction that you had to help.
"You shouldn't carry all of this alone," she said softly.
Marion frowned. "I… don't understand."
"You're so quiet. So… empty." Vania lowered her gaze, searching for the right words. "I know what it's like when you feel like the world is falling apart. But no one should have to get through that alone."
He stayed silent.
She smiled faintly, as if she didn't want to push him. "I'll write up the notes from class for you. Then you won't have to catch up on everything."
Again he only nodded, without looking at her.
Vania studied his profile: the dark shadows under his eyes, the ashen expression. To her he was suddenly no longer "the quiet boy from class." To her he was the wounded boy who needed saving.
She didn't say more—just stayed beside him. The sun sank a little lower, voices echoed through the courtyard, students ran past laughing.
And Marion? He accepted it in silence. He didn't really understand what she wanted—or why. But he was too tired to refuse.
So they sat there side by side: Vania with the warmth of a young woman who wanted to help, and Marion with the emptiness of a young man who didn't know if he would ever be whole again.
Vania Like Glue
The next day, Marion and Vania were sitting next to each other in the courtyard again. She had placed a few notes in front of him and flipped through them while asking softly, "And… what do you think about it?"
Marion mumbled something about "it was interesting" without meeting her eyes. His mind was already elsewhere—on memories of Tamara, of Tessa, of all the shadows that wouldn't go away.
But two pairs of eyes missed nothing: Tobia and Manuel stood a short distance away, leaning against a wall and watching the scene with wide grins.
"Dude!" Tobia whispered, elbowing Manuel. "Did you see it? Vania's stuck to him like glue!"
Manuel snorted. "Marion! Mr. Forever-Normal! What happened to you? First Tamara, now Vania—what are you suddenly, some kind of ladies' man?"
They laughed—half mocking, half jealous.
Marion heard them, of course. He hunched his shoulders, his face burning. "Stop it…" he muttered, but the two didn't let up.
"Oh come on, admit it!" Manuel called, way too loud. "She's totally got her eyes on you. She's practically sitting in your lap!"
"Careful, brother," Tobia giggled. "If Jenny shows up too, you'll need a planner for your dates."
Marion growled quietly, about to snap back—but Vania only smiled gently. "Just ignore them. They have no idea."
She briefly placed her hand on his arm, almost imperceptibly. Marion stiffened, his heart beating unevenly. He didn't pull his arm away—but he didn't say anything either.
In the days that followed, the pattern repeated.
Vania sought him out during breaks, sat next to him in class, asked what he thought, how he was doing, whether he needed anything. She brought him small things—an apple, a sandwich, even a cloth to cover him.
"Because you're so pale. It'll keep you warmer."
Marion almost always answered only briefly. "Mm." — "Yeah." — "Don't know."
He listened to her, but his heart wasn't with her.
Because inside he was still thinking about Tessa. About the red hair, the golden glow of her eyes. About her smile that was poison and honey at the same time.
Vania didn't notice his distance—or didn't want to notice it. To her he was the wounded boy who needed saving. Her project. A heart she meant to heal.
And Marion let it happen. Not because he hoped—but because he was too tired to fight it off.