Aria sat at her desk after the lecture, her head buried in her arms. The classroom buzzed quietly, students trickling out one by one. She didn't notice the shadow falling across her desk until it didn't move.
Raising her head, she was met with his goofy smile.
Martin.
She didn't know when she'd started disliking him or what exactly she hated but lately, everything about him irritated her. His voice. His presence. Even the way he smiled.
With a dramatic eye roll, she laid her head back down, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
He didn't.
Unable to sleep, she sighed and reached for her notes, flipping through them. Martin was still standing there. The smile was gone, replaced by a serious expression.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice sharp, clearly annoyed.
His eyes lit up full of hope.
"I... um..."
The incoherence only fueled her irritation. She knew it wasn't right, but she didn't like him anymore. That was just how it was.
"Speak up," she snapped through gritted teeth. "I want to review."
"Can we talk?" he asked, eyes darting around nervously. "Privately… please."
Aria's voice rose. "No need. Just speak. There's nothing private between us."
Martin blinked, stunned.
"No, that's not... not what I meant… I… what I want..."
"Martin," she cut him off, her tone hard.
"Just say it and be done. Why must it be private? If anyone hears, they'll think something's going on between us!"
She said it all in one breath, loud enough for the nearby students to hear. Heads turned toward her desk.
Martin froze. He hated attention, especially this kind. Every cell in his body told him to retreat, to run back to the safety of his desk. But deep down, he knew there would never be a better moment. Aria was always busy, always surrounded. This was his only chance.
He clenched his jaw, summoning every shred of courage he had.
"Can you go out with me?"
Aria blinked.
"What?"
The shock on her face said it all she hadn't expected it. Not from him.
Whispers rippled across the classroom. All eyes were on them now.
"No," Aria said, looking directly at him.
Her answer was cold, clear, and firm. She didn't want to give him false hope. Better to be brutal than misleading.
Martin's heart sank. He had expected rejection, but not this swiftly, not this sharp.
"Okay… thank you for your honesty," he muttered. His voice was small, defeated. Shoulders slumped, he turned away, ignoring the sympathetic or amused stares that followed him back to his seat.
He had returned to his asylum his quiet world where he was the only protagonist. He'd tried to blend in, to connect with his classmates, but it never worked. He was an introvert, though he wasn't sure if there was a diagnosis for the way he craved solitude. He just liked the peace of his own world.
Aria had been the only ripple.
He'd fallen for her the first time he saw her calm, serene face like sunlight on the dark side of the moon. Her bright eyes were stars breaking through dawn. Her smile is breathtaking like an image frozen in time, enchanting, beautiful, dangerously divine. Her long legs had the grace of a savanna cheetah. She looked like an angel who'd wandered too far from heaven.
But it wasn't just her beauty. It was her heart. Her voice. Her kindness once, long ago.
Now, that kindness was gone. And with it, the hope he'd held quietly for so long.
Martin sat in a daze for the rest of the remaining lectures. He didn't hear a word. The pain was sharp, but also… cleansing. The burden of unspoken feelings was finally gone. Things would be awkward now. He accepted that. But at least he no longer had to pretend. At least now he knew.
Before he realized it, the final bell rang. The day had ended.
Like a ghost, he walked home. Head down. Steps heavy. The small town blurred past him, people laughing, engines humming, leaves rustling, and somewhere between the sound of the world moving on, something inside him broke free.
"You're home?" a voice called out as he opened the door.
The warm scent of spices hit him first. Mariah, his mother, peeked out from the kitchen with a smile.
"What's the event today?" he asked, managing a rare smile of his own.
Mariah was his home. His warmth. His anchor. Just seeing her made the earlier sting of rejection fade into the background.
How does she manage? He wondered. She was always smiling, always kind, like the weight of their past had never touched her.
But he remembered.
He remembered how their world was trampled. How their relatives kicked them out of their home after his father's accident. Once a middle-income family, they had collapsed under the weight of medical bills and despair. He remembered the pleading in Mariah's voice, his mother kneeling, begging her own kin for mercy.
None was given.
Like stray dogs, they were cast out and abandoned by blood.
His father's health worsened, and he eventually died. Mariah, still young and heartbreakingly beautiful, was forced to work whatever job she could find just to keep them fed. Martin had been only five. He still remembers the helplessness, the confusion, the loneliness.
The children at school had mocked him and called him the poor orphan boy. The adults whispered. Some of the very relatives who'd cast them out had tried to take advantage of Mariah's vulnerability. Martin watched it all, and something in him hardened early. He learned silence. He learned to disappear.
When luck strikes low, nothing goes your way.
They said.
His only comfort had been Mariah. Her warmth. Her unwavering love. She never complained. And because of that, Martin never did either. He understood her burden too well to add to it.
He hoped to finish his coursework soon, just a little longer, and retreat back into the quiet world he preferred. A world where people didn't laugh when you spoke your heart. Where things made sense.
Where he didn't have to feel so exposed.