I felt a jolt of recognition, and my mind raced back to the day of the accident, the day I met the girl who had saved my life. It was her, the same girl with the piercing eyes and determined expression. I couldn't believe it. What was she doing here? But as I looked into her eyes, there was no recognition—no expression at all.
She slowly entered the classroom. The boys stared at her like leeches seeking blood. I was still in shock, but what caught me off guard even more was seeing my mother standing at the door beside the principal. The girl from the incident ignored me like she didn't know who I was. I asked myself, "Why am I thinking about her?" I shouldn't.
The principal called my name. "Suvam, come to the principal's office."
I was surprised and confused. Why was my mom here? Why was I being called? I got up from my bench and walked toward the door. My classmates stared at me, all except for a few—and her. I walked into the office and sat on the sofa. My mom sat beside me, her face unreadable.
The principal looked at me with a forced smile that barely concealed his irritation. "Suvam, how are you?"
My mother stared at me, her eyes pleading, as if she wanted to say something. The principal turned to her. "Mrs. KC, your son has been absent too many times. I am tired of having this kind of student in my school. I have tried countless times to motivate him, but he never takes my words seriously."
My mom lowered her head. "I'm sorry, sir. From now on, he will never be absent."
The principal sighed, looking exhausted. "Mrs. KC, I have warned him countless times, and I have spoken to you three times before. This is the fourth time. Don't be sad. It's not your fault, but it is your responsibility. The reason your son is like this is because of you. You have made mistakes as a parent."
My mother kept repeating, "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry."
The principal pulled out a folder and showed her the attendance record. "This is your son's record, Mrs. KC."
My mom started crying. The principal looked at me with disgust, as if I were a useless son, as if he were silently saying I shouldn't have been born. Then, in contrast, he looked at my mother with sympathy. "Mrs. KC, I understand what you are feeling, but your son does not understand you."
I sat there motionless, expressionless. I wasn't nervous, sad, or angry—nothing. I was lost in my own world. My mother and the principal spoke for about ten minutes. Then he made his final statement.
"Mrs. KC, the school has decided to put your son on restriction. If he is absent for another ten days this year, he will be expelled."
My mother, still crying, whispered, "Thank you, sir."
The principal turned to me. "Go to your class now."
I did as he told me, without regret or grief. As I walked back, I asked myself, "Why am I searching for something that doesn't have an answer? Should I even be searching? Is this my own urge or the urge of others?" My inner self whispered, "Who are you?" I stopped for a moment. "I don't know. Should I force myself to find out? Or should I be myself, even if I don't know who that is?"
I reached my classroom and asked the teacher, "May I come in?"
She replied, "Sure."
I took my seat. All the students stared at me like I was an alien. It felt disgusting, like being surrounded by leeches. This time, even that girl was staring at me.
As time passed, the last bell rang. I ran out of school. I didn't know why I was running or what I was running from. I just ran. I stepped into a small hotel, bought some booze, and drank.
A middle-aged man, around 32, sat near my table. He looked at me and asked, "Boy, why are you trembling? Is something wrong?"
"Nah… nothing… ahh," I muttered, staring at him. I didn't know why I felt anxious. I knew worrying was meaningless, that the world was meaningless. But still, I was afraid. Why?
He sighed. "You know, boy, I had a son about your age. He was spiritual and wiser than me. One day, he saw a man dying in an accident. People just stared, but my son took action. He grabbed the man and tried to take him to a hospital. Unfortunately, the man died on the way. When the police came, they questioned my son. He told them everything. But the man's family blamed him. 'If you hadn't moved my husband, he wouldn't have died. Why didn't you wait for the ambulance? Your hurry made him vibrate while you were running.' They filed a case against my son. Because of political influence, he was jailed for five hours. He hadn't expected this. A month later, he committed suicide."
The man spoke with a hollow expression.
I remained silent. I wanted to say something, but no words came. Finally, I managed, "I'm sorry."
The man shook his head. "You don't need to be. I just want to say—don't end up like my son. The world is confusing."
We talked for a while. I shared what happened today, and he shared his own life. Unlike with others, I felt comfortable talking to him. I felt like my real self. When I talk to strangers, knowing we'll never meet again, I feel free. But when I'm with people I know, I forget who I am.
Yet… I don't even know who I am.
That night, as I walked back home, I saw her—the girl from the accident—standing on the bridge, staring at the river below. Something about the way she stood, unmoving, staring into the dark waters, made my heart clench. I wanted to walk away. I wanted to ignore her, just as she ignored me.
But something inside me whispered, "Don't."
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. "Hey… are you okay?"