Cold Water

THREE

                   
                        ♥︎ATHALIA♥︎

   Today was my first day at this new school, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

  Moving around so much has taught me not to get too attached, but I was still hopeful this place might be different.

  I walked into homeroom with my usual smile, scanning the room for a friendly face.

  Most people seemed caught up in their own little worlds, but then I noticed him.

  I mean, he's not the hard to miss since he's wearing all black and has his hoodie pulled up.

  He was sitting in the back, quiet, drawing something in his notebook. His sketch caught my eye, and before I knew it, I was walking over to sit beside him.

  His art was amazing, and I couldn’t help but tell him so. He barely spoke, just gave me these small nods, and mumbled his name when I asked, but there was something about him that felt... different.

   Lunch was the same. I sat with him again, even though he didn’t really talk much. I didn’t mind.

  Sometimes people just need someone to be there, to listen, even if they don’t have anything to say. So I filled the silence, told him about myself.

  Later, when I saw him walking home, I joined him again. I talked about my photography—how I love capturing little moments that make life beautiful, even when things feel tough.

  He was quiet, but I could tell he was listening. And when I showed him one of my pictures, he actually smiled, just a little.

   It was nice. He’s quiet, but there’s something about him that draws me in. He doesn’t try to impress anyone, doesn’t fake anything. I don't know  how I'm able to tell so soon, but it's just my observation of today.

  He’s just... real. And I can tell there’s something heavy weighing on him, something he doesn’t want to talk about.

  When I got home, I wasn’t expecting much—just the usual quiet house.

   Mom’s always at the restaurant, working late to keep things running. Being a single mum is very hard.

  My mom had me when she was very young. She was nineteen.

  She was in culinary school at the time. She told me that after I was born, she went back and completed.

  The downside is that my dad denied the pregnancy. Some thing along the line of 'I'm not ready to be father'.

  I'm not sad about it. Better to have no father than to have one who would  rather be anything but a father.

  Her father was not very happy and practically disowned her. Her mother, on the other hand, was supportive.

  She wasn't very happy but supportive since my mom was an only child.

  She took care of me when mom went back to school.

  So now my mum owns a restaurant, where she's the head chef. And that means her coming back home late.

  I’ve gotten used to it by now. I mean, I miss her sometimes, but it’s just the way things are.

  But today, as I opened the front door, I was greeted by something I hadn’t heard in a long time: the sound of pots clanging and the smell of something cooking.

   “Mom?” I called out, stepping inside, confused. She’s never home this early.

“In here, sweetie. ” she replied from the kitchen.