He is currently in his fourth year of high school, and he still hasn't managed to befriend anyone in his class. While his classmates had already formed their circles, the only circles in his life were the dark ones under his eyes, which had worsened over the summer.
This was due to working part-time to help his grandfather pay the bills and afford his grandmother's medications. This responsibility was partly why he found it difficult to connect with peers his age. His grandparents often remarked that he had the mentality of an adult—far too mature for his years. This maturity created a gap; people his age couldn't understand him, and he couldn't understand them either.
As he listened to the incessant chatter of his seatmate and the person in front of them, he overheard that there would be a new Physical Education teacher because the previous one was pregnant. He couldn't understand why they were laughing about a woman in her thirties getting pregnant. Why were they talking about her as if she had done something wrong by choosing to have a baby instead of continuing her teaching career? And why were they discussing someone else's personal life instead of focusing on more important things, like their group project, which they should have started planning by now?
But why was he still listening anyway? He shouldn't be hypocritical and should mind his own business. He shifted his focus to the history book he had borrowed from the school library. Unable to afford his own, this was his only way to access educational materials.
"He's reading again."
"Why is he always reading?"
"Because his family is poor. He has to work hard."
"Wow, I pity him."
"Yes, he's pitiful but kind of annoying."
Buzz, buzz, and more buzzing. Their idle chatter was like a swarm of insects, incessantly belittling others. But when the teacher asks them to recite, they're suddenly quiet, like meek little animals. He almost rolled his eyes at them, but he knew that if he showed even a hint of negative reaction, he'd end up as the villain.
But he's only human. He's about to burst in anger, right here, right now. His hands are clenched into tight fists, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. He neither needs nor wants anyone's pity. He knows he's poor, but he also knows better than anyone in this room how hard he works, as if he had ten children to support. He's frustrated, tired, angry, and probably experiencing every negative emotion a human could feel. Their immature minds could never grasp the depth of his suffering.
"Yes, he's filled with negativity. I don't want to be his friend at all." At that moment, the boy finally snapped. He closed the thick book in his hand and slammed it on the table with a loud thud, catching everyone's attention.
"And who wants to be your friend, anyway? You got a zero on a quiz yesterday. You spread rumors about our teachers, and now you're disturbing my self-study session. If you don't want to study, at least be quiet, as quiet as a dead rat." He said, and when he looked around, everyone was staring at him as if he had just desecrated the ashes of their ancestors.
He could no longer hold it together. He stood up from his seat and ran out of the classroom as if he were being chased. He despised them for pitying him and not understanding him. He resented his parents for leaving him behind. He loathed the world for continuously tormenting him. But most of all, he hated himself for being weak. He couldn't even control his emotions properly. He was no longer a child. He should have just stayed quiet. He should have been the one to be as quiet as a dead rat.
As he drowned in self-loathing, a handkerchief appeared in front of him. When he looked up, his eyes instantly locked onto a person with the face of an angel, the background blurring into insignificance. This person smiled down at him with a kindness that seemed almost celestial. His eyes sparkled with warmth and empathy, reminiscent of the way his grandparents looked at him. The presence of a tiny dimple on his right cheek added an extra layer of charm to his already captivating appearance.
"Are you okay, kid?" the angelic figure asked, his voice deeper than expected, resonating with a soothing timbre.
"Me?" he stammered, feeling an overwhelming sense of stupidity wash over him. His accumulated knowledge from all his studying seemed to evaporate instantly, and he couldn't even muster a coherent response to such a simple question.
"Ah! Of course, of course, I am fine," he said, too loudly for his liking. He sounded overly eager to answer him, as if he kept making foolish actions in front of someone he was supposed to impress.
Wait, impress? Why did he feel the need to impress him? Unbeknownst to him, his reactions could no longer be hidden from the man in front of him. One moment, he looked clueless; the next, he appeared mad.
'Poor child, whatever he's going through must be really hard,' the man thought as he looked at the pitiful child sitting gloomily on a bleacher.
The boy inhaled and looked at the man calmly. He finally managed to control himself and was no longer panicking.
He stood up and straightened his uniform. "I'm sorry, I was just out of it earlier. I'm fine now, but thank you for asking," he said, in a tone not befitting of a teenager. It was so different from how he had acted moments ago that it surprised the man.
"Is that so?" the man said. Even though the boy was acting maturely, it only made the man more worried. This is not how most teens act. He knew how teenagers typically behaved since he had quite a few nieces and nephews. They were a wild bunch of kids, but that was fine. Even he had acted like that when he was a teen himself.
But this boy in front of him was different. His posture was perfect. From the clumsy boy he met to a well-spoken young man, his face was still a symbol of innocence, but his eyes were ablaze, as if he wanted to prove something to the world.
There's no doubt this boy had some problems. Maybe he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop himself from getting curious. He couldn't stop the questions that popped into his mind the moment he laid his eyes on the boy's small frame.
Why? Why do you have such a look in your eyes? What made you like this? Are you really alright? Why are you pretending when you're clearly suffering?
Before he knew it, he had already presented his calling card to the boy. It was a plain, well-made white card. It didn't have any designs, just his name, phone number, and email address.
"Wha-?"
"If you need someone to talk to about anything at all, call me," he said as he placed the calling card in the boy's hand.
'His hands are tiny,' he thought.
"But I said I'm okay," the boy responded. He looked a bit nervous and uncomfortable, which heightened the man's awareness. He let go immediately, his face turning pale. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I'm not a strange person. I just want to help," he said urgently, raising both hands as if surrendering to the police. Well, they might indeed point their guns at him if he didn't stop acting like a creepy old man. He almost hit himself for his lack of self-awareness.
"No, it's not that. I'm just not used to people's kindness. Anyway, thank you for this," the boy said. He spoke without stammering, but the light blush on his cheeks betrayed him. He clutched the card to his chest, said goodbye to the kind man, and made his way back to hell, also known as the classroom.
'He's kind, but he's a little awkward,' he giggled as he recalled how the man stepped back after realizing that he might be perceived as a strange old dude trying to hit on a child. His eyes were kind, and his voice was even kinder and deeper. 'I should definitely contact him later,' he thought with a small smile, unaware of what was to come next.
Falling in love is a wonderful thing. But what if you fall for someone whom you're not supposed to covet? This is the story of a student falling for his teacher. Will this love be reciprocated, or will it remain forever unrequited?