I Never Want The Sun To Set

2. Lunch, reunion and haze.

Lunchtime had finally arrived, but the bell's chime was more a reminder of routine than relief.

Joel stared blankly at the faded chalkboard, the teacher's voice fading into a monotonous drone. His thoughts had drifted, and the words barely reached his ears. He could feel the weight of the day pressing down on him, like a thick fog creeping into every corner of his mind.

His eyes felt heavy, each blink becoming a struggle to stay awake. He had barely slept the night before, and the hours spent in class had felt endless. A quiet exhaustion had settled in him, one that felt deeper than just physical tiredness—it was the emotional weight of things unsaid, of connections left incomplete.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. The rush of students leaving the room brought him back to reality. As his classmates streamed past him, he lingered, not in a hurry to join the chaos of the cafeteria. Instead, he laid his head on his desk, hoping to catch a few moments of rest. The low hum of conversation and the distant clinking of utensils from the cafeteria only seemed to amplify his hunger.

"I'm starving," he muttered, feeling the emptiness in his stomach gnawing at him. He had barely eaten breakfast, and the absence of his lunch only made the hunger more pronounced.

With a sigh, he reached for his backpack, hoping to quell his hunger with the lunch he had packed that morning. His fingers brushed the straps, noticing a peculiar lightness that made his heart sink.

"My bag feels too light," Joel thought, a sense of unease settling in. He pulled open the zipper quickly, his heart sinking as he discovered the void where his lunch should have been.

"No wonder it felt empty," he said to himself, shaking his head at his own forgetfulness. His stomach growled in protest.

Frustration bubbled up as he remembered the crumpled bills in his pocket meant for pencils. He had taken them out this morning, but in his rush, he'd forgotten to grab any actual food. "I guess lunch is more important," he decided, muttering to himself. "I'll buy the pencils later."

Shoving his bag under the desk, Joel stood up, his movements brisk as he headed toward the door. The hallway outside was bustling with students, laughter, and conversations echoing off the lockers. He threaded through the crowd with single-minded determination, his focus on reaching the cafeteria before the best options were gone.

But as he rounded a corner, Joel's haste caused him to collide with another student. The impact sent a jolt through him, and he stumbled back, muttering, "Oh, shit."

The other student steadied himself and looked up. Joel froze for a moment, recognizing the face almost immediately. It was Henry, a friend he hadn't spoken to in years.

A mixture of emotions swirled within Joel—surprise, nostalgia, and a touch of bitterness. The last time they had spoken, it had ended in awkwardness and distance. There had been no clear reason for the falling out, but over time, the silence had grown.

"Henry," Joel acknowledged, his tone guarded.

"Wanna talk?" Henry's voice was tentative, his eyes searching Joel's face for a hint of the friend he once knew.

Joel's expression hardened. "I'm not the same anymore, Henry," he said, his voice colder than he intended. The weight of old wounds and unresolved feelings pressed down on him. Memories of better days felt out of reach, buried beneath a pile of unspoken words and pain.

Henry's smile faltered, replaced by a look of regret. "I know. I'm not the same either," he replied, his tone subdued. He reached out a hand, a silent olive branch, but before Joel could respond, a voice interrupted them.