Whispers Of The Unseen

Chapter 1 - Haerin's POV: Why I Dont Socialize

This is why I don't socialize, I mused as I maneuvered through the bustling hallways of the school, my trusty heelies propelling me forward. An average day in my world was a blend of the familiar and the peculiar, a mix of routine and spontaneity that set me apart from my peers. I knew that my brand of eccentricity didn't always fit the mold, but it was the only way I knew how to be.

My shoulder bag, heavy with books and crammed with notebooks, swung as I skated down the hallway. After that glitter incident, I had long abandoned using lockers. What's the point of storing your stuff in a metallic box if it's just going to turn into a sparkling surprise the next day?

The strange thing was, I couldn't fathom why the other girls and boys were so mean to me. I didn't go out of my way to provoke them or interfere with their lives. I just did my thing, embracing my peculiarities, and minding my own business. But their laughter, the whispers that followed me like shadows, made it evident that I was an outsider in their world.

I reached my first classroom and leaned against the wall, waiting. Waiting until the bell signaled the start of another day of classes. I wasn't in any hurry to jump into the sea of faces that would soon fill the room. Being first in meant I could secure a seat at the back, away from prying eyes and unkind words. It was my sanctuary of solitude, a place where I could be free to listen, observe, and learn without the judgmental stares.

Friendships were a concept that felt foreign to me. I had often watched cliques form, laughter exchanged, and secrets whispered among my classmates, but I was on the periphery of it all. It wasn't as if I hadn't tried to reach out or connect, but my attempts often fell flat. My conversations didn't follow the predictable scripts, my interests deviated from the mainstream, and my mannerisms were anything but conventional.

As the bell finally rang, I slipped into the classroom with the rest of the students, navigating my way to the back and sinking into my chosen seat. My surroundings faded as the teacher's voice became a distant hum, the white noise against which I carved my own world of thoughts and imagination.

The morning sunlight filtered through the windows, casting dancing patterns on the walls. In those fleeting moments of solitude before the class truly began, I allowed myself a small smile. I might have been an anomaly, an oddity that didn't quite fit in, but this was where I found solace. In the corners of the room, amidst the pages of my notebooks, and within the recesses of my mind, I was free to be me – peculiar, unique, and beautifully different.

The day followed its monotonous course, each class blending into the next like colors smudging into a dull canvas. I moved through the crowded hallways, a silent observer amidst the chaos. The interactions with my classmates were minimal, confined to the obligatory moments of group work or assigned discussions.

Lunchtime brought a familiar routine. I settled into a quiet corner of the cafeteria, a book propped open before me. The words on the page formed a cocoon around me, shielding me from the cacophony of teenage drama and superficial conversations.

"Is this seat taken?" A voice cut through my isolation, and I looked up to see a girl standing there, tray in hand. There was a tense expression on her face, as if she was bracing herself for something.

I studied her for a moment, processing the unexpected intrusion. "No," I answered curtly, my voice laced with indifference.

She offered a small smile and took a seat across from me. "Minji," she introduced herself.

I raised an eyebrow, not bothering to reciprocate the introduction. What was a professor doing approaching me during lunch? Was this some attempt at camaraderie?

"Haerin," I replied, my tone neutral.

Minji's smile remained, though it seemed strained now. "You have a rather unique perspective, Haerin."

I scoffed internally. Of course, she would notice that. They always did, those who found solace in observing others from a distance.

"I suppose," I replied curtly, my gaze returning to my book.

"Seeing the world differently is an asset," she continued, seemingly unperturbed by my lack of enthusiasm.

I glanced at her, my gaze sharp. "Is that your professional opinion, Professor Minji?"

She chuckled, the sound not quite reaching her eyes. "Just an observation."

The conversation continued, words exchanged in a stilted dance of formality. I found myself answering her questions with monosyllabic responses, my defenses firmly in place. Why was she bothering with me? I wasn't one of her star students, nor was I seeking her approval.

As the lunch period drew to a close, Minji pushed her tray away, her expression unreadable. "I have to return to my office."

"Sure," I replied, not bothering to mask the disinterest in my tone.

She gave me a nod, the façade of friendliness finally slipping. "Perhaps we'll cross paths again."

I watched her leave, my emotions a mix of annoyance and confusion. What was she playing at? Her attempts at conversation felt forced, a charade of reaching out when it was clear she had little interest in truly understanding me.

The cafeteria buzzed around me, but the encounter with Minji left me feeling colder than before. If this was her idea of forging connections, then I was content in my isolation. There was no need to entertain false gestures of interest or feigned camaraderie. In a world that often misunderstood and misjudged, I would remain the solitary figure in the corner, a puzzle unsolved and untouched by those who only saw what they wanted to see.