The Outlier

TWENTY-SIX

In the course of the next couple of days, I was careful not to mention Edward and my moment; and thankfully, Edward got the hint and refused to bring it up. I tried my best to avoid Edward without making it seem too obvious, though I'd be a fool to ever think Edward's observant self wouldn't notice.

How does one even tackle something like that?

Hey, bro, sorry we almost kissed. Wanna go back to how we were? Yeah, that doesn't even sound remotely right in my head.

I woke up two hours early for school, a product of unpleasant dreams. I sat, reading Death in Venice, one of my father's German literature favourites. I never got into any of his literature favourites— we just had different tastes. But feeling the way I did, I couldn't help but long for what I didn't have.

This feeling reminded me of a concept I once read in a Japanese English-translated poem. Komorebi— the sunlight that peeks through tree leaves that are on branches.

As unsophisticated as the English translation sounds, it wasn't just the light that scattered through the leaves— it's a feeling.

The feeling itself was a tree of joyous nostalgia where I missed everyone and the sunlight was the undeniable and unshakable ray of melancholy that ripped through every good memory.

Regardless of how much I tried to waft away the melancholy, you can't swat away sunlight— no matter how hard I tried.

I pinched my nose bridge in discomfort as a sharp pain stabs through my head and I instantly remembered my mother's scolding.

"How many times do I tell you, Mija," she scolded, "you keep on getting these headaches because you don't wear your glasses. Start wearing them."

I laughed humourlessly at my memory of my mother. Even in an entirely different reality, I could still clearly hear my mother's reprimands in my head. I fished for my wire-rimmed tortoiseshell glasses, the pain almost instantly fading away.

That day, I wore my glasses to school for the very first time. Ever.

No one, other than my parents and Ashton, had ever seen me in my glasses. For some wild reason, I was ashamed of having imperfect vision and felt the need to hide that fact from everyone— as if people even cared in the first place.

Now, I was more than happy to show that Mum's scolding was real, not a fragment left behind from my overly creative imagination.

I took my usual seat in the front of the class in English, Edward following shortly behind me, taking Nicholas Laghari's spot beside me for a moment while he spoke to me.

"New glasses?" he asked.

"No," I shrugged, "not new, just don't feel like wearing them most of the time."

"Well, you should wear them. They look lovely on you."

I shyly tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He does it better, I thought to myself. Laghari's frame awkwardly announced itself from the doorway, clearing his throat, trying to urge Edward out of his chair.

"Right, sorry," Edward muttered, retreating a few rows back to his desk. Nicholas smiled at me wordlessly, as per routine, as he pulled out his notebook.

I didn't know much about Nicholas from our limited and strained interactions. Laghari was a good, ambitious student, that much was obvious. Sometimes I felt that the boy was much too hard on himself, looking visibly upset when he'd get an eighty-six percent on a paper— I mean, I would, too, but that's beside the point.