Peter

  Peter trotted slowly. It was a chilling morning after a heavy downpour. The cold winter wind carried somber clouds and penetrating rain.

  It was going to be a miserable day. He knew all eyes were on him. Everyone already knew. He was quite popular, and the same question lingered in their minds: Why was he in school today? He didn't know the answer either.

  He lost his mom yesterday. Any normal person would have stayed home. But he wasn't normal.

  He walked slowly toward the class, a little late. He figured he could be pardoned. His eyes were red. Not from crying but from a sleepless night. He hadn't shed a single tear. He was far too relieved to cry.

  She'd spent the past two weeks in the hospital, suffering unbearable pain. He saw it in her eyes. She wanted it to end. The cancer had ravaged her. Left her pale, lean, and unrecognizable. The image was destroying his memories of her as the radiant, chubby woman he once knew. Watching her become an empty shell was haunting.

  He loved her deeply, but he never got the chance to truly bond with her. He was too busy chasing girls and chasing wins on the football pitch. He was the star of the school team. Arguably the best. Football brought him attention, admiration, and girls from their school and the ones they competed against. And in those moments, that was all that mattered.

  But in her final days, he tried. He skipped practices and went straight to the hospital after school. He cracked jokes, made light conversation. She struggled to talk, then lost the ability altogether. Watching her fade before his eyes was the worst pain he'd ever felt.

  His friends, Ralph and a few teammates, visited often. They tried to cheer him up. Their gesture felt sincere, but deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that they came to see him cracked and vulnerable. He'd always walked with pride. Maybe they wanted to see if it had crumbled. He appreciated their concern, but he didn't want an audience for his grief.

  What hurt most was his father not being there. He was always traveling for business. Peter couldn't blame him. His success was why Peter lived a privileged life. He only flew in when he heard she had died. He cried bitterly, and Peter watched in silence. Angry.

  He knew his father loved her, and she loved him. That should've been enough to keep him by her side at the end. She would've wanted both of them there. She never complained about the neglect. She found joy in Peter's football victories, in Dad's business trips, in their happiness. They were too self-absorbed to see her fading. She hid the illness until it was too late.

  Peter noticed her growing weak but assumed it was stress from running the home. By the time they knew, it was critical.

  That's why he couldn't stay home. The guilt would have swallowed him whole. He was scared of being alone with his thoughts, of the silence. He needed to hide in the crowd. Anywhere his demons couldn't reach him.

  When he entered the classroom, Mr. Whitehead was already there. He was their Biology teacher. Kind and soft-spoken, a favorite among students. Peter rarely paid attention in his class. He was always at the back, joking with friends or scrolling through his phone.

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  All eyes were on him. He greeted Mr. Whitehead, who paused mid-lecture to speak.

  "I heard what happened, Mr. Ben. I'm so sorry about the death of your mother."

  "Thank you, sir," Peter replied.

  Mr. Whitehead opened his mouth again but stopped himself. Peter knew what he wanted to ask. Why are you here? But he didn't. It wasn't his place, and Peter respected him for knowing that.

  He walked to his seat.

  Throughout the day, everyone treated him like he was about to shatter. Condolences came from classmates, friends, even people he barely knew. Same words, over and over again. It was kind, but it irritated him. He didn't want to be pitied.

  Maybe he should have stayed home and faced his guilt. That seemed easier than this constant stream of sympathy.

  He finally isolated himself in a quiet corner of the school grounds, trying to avoid snapping at someone. It wouldn't be fair. They meant well, but what he needed wasn't empathy. He wanted normalcy. Being treated like a fragile thing only reminded him of what he wanted to forget.

  He was lost in thought when he heard footsteps and a twig snap behind him. He snapped his head around.

  Can't I get a moment to myself?

  Priscilla

  She was tired of how everyone treated him like he would break. She understood that suffocating feeling of being pitied. She'd lost her dad in a car accident when she was young. He'd been her world. She cried until she felt dry inside. Everyone trying to protect her only made it worse. She wanted to be alone, to stare at the sunset without anyone hovering. But deep down, she just needed someone to talk to.

  Someone who understood. No one did.

  She thought she could be that for Peter. She saw him earlier, heading to a quiet part of the school. Her favorite spot too. A shaded bench beneath a large tree where sunlight barely touched. Calm. Peaceful. She waited a moment before following, hoping it wouldn't seem like she was stalking him.

  He sat with his head bowed, lost in thought. She approached slowly, hoping he'd notice her. He didn't. Not until she accidentally stepped on a twig. It cracked loudly. He looked up, startled.

  She froze. She hadn't meant to startle him. She must have looked like a creep. His expression frightened her even more. Cold and yet devastatingly handsome.

  His angry expression chilled her. Maybe coming here was a mistake. Janet had warned her not to talk to him. She'd never dared to approach him before. Not because she didn't want to, but because she was shy and a little scared. Trying now, when he was clearly upset, probably wasn't smart. But she'd told herself this wasn't about liking him. It was about helping someone in pain.

  "Hi, Peter," she said quietly.

  "Hi. What do you want?" he asked, voice cold.

  She flinched.

  "Erm... I just wanted to say I'm sorry about your mom."

  "Thank you. You've said it. Can I be alone now?"

  She shrank. She regretted everything. He probably thought she was just another girl with a crush, taking advantage of his grief. She couldn't let him think that.

  "I just wanted to say... if you ever need someone to talk to, someone who understands, I'm here," she stammered.

  "I'm tired of hearing that. I don't know you. Why would I talk to you?" he snapped.

  This was going terribly. Not how she imagined it at all. She knew he might not accept her gesture, but she hadn't expected hostility.

  "I'm really sorry," she said.

  "Yeah, right," he muttered mockingly.

  She turned and walked away, his eyes boring into her back. She felt humiliated. Janet had been right. She shouldn't have come. She tried to rationalize his reaction. Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Maybe she caught him at his worst. She didn't hate him for it. She couldn't. She felt hurt and angry, but she also pitied him. She was confused.

  Janet waved at her from a distance. She had a physics book open on her lap.

  "So? How did it go?" she asked, clearly curious.

  "He snapped at me."

  "Snapped at you? Why? What did you say?" Her expression darkened. She could be fiercely protective.

  "I guess I said what everyone's been saying all day. He got angry."

  "Who the hell does he think he is?"

  "It's my fault. I should've known better," Priscilla said, trying to calm her down.

  "Yeah, you should have," Janet said, rolling her eyes. "But you couldn't resist talking to your crush." "Oh, shut up, Jane."

  "Let's move on. Next class starts soon."

  "Where's Phil?" Priscilla asked.

  "Haven't seen him."

  She stood, and they walked toward class.