𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄

ᴇɴᴛʀʏ #8 | ɪɴᴊᴇᴄᴛ

008 | Inject

Sitting in class, zoning out once more from her teacher's lecture, (Y/N) tried to figure out why exactly Kana had snapped—much quicker and much more aggressive this time than usual.

Maybe... Amar went too far?

Or... something at home has stressed her out?

Or... maybe she's just tired of her friends calling her out just because of who she is?

Exhaling, she let the hand that was propping up her head drop, letting her back rest against the chair and her legs sprawl out in front of her. Gazing outside, she once again saw that it was raining—a common occurrence in her town—and thought it fit her mood perfectly.

I feel bad.

As a really good friend, seeing her mad at me and everyone else sucks.

Just as her mind whirred with ways she and the others could make it up to Kana, the staticky crackle of the intercom came to life, a screech of feedback being heard before: "May I please have (Y/N)(L/N) to the front office? Once again, may I please have (Y/N)(L/N) to the front office?"

Raising a brow, most eyes being turned to her at that, the teacher sighed and gestured her forward. Amar, knowing exactly what was going on, let his hands fall onto his arms as he rested against his desk, wishing that he could go with her, yet knowing that he could not. After packing her stuff, she took the slip the teacher had provided and promptly left, only glancing back to meet Amar's gaze and give a reassuring smile.

I'll be fine.

The message that passed between the two was one forged over a long period of time to a strong bond.

One that didn't need blood to pass.

Letting her steps echo through the halls, they basically empty due to everyone being in classes, (Y/N) found such a silence peaceful.

Closing her eyes, she listened to the rain drumming against the roof in a rhythm that was alway new, always unique. She listened to the faint hum of voices inside the classrooms, the ones that were barely audible but still there. And finally, she listened to herself—her own breathing, the pulsing of her blood beneath her fingertips, the beating of her heart—and felt at peace.

Opening her eyes, a smile gracing her lips, she was startled to find someone standing right in front of her, merely watching.

Blinking in surprise, (Y/N) coughed awkwardly, maneuvering around him and quickening her pace ever so slightly, wishing that her face didn't burn with the heat of embarrassment, or that her throat had suddenly gone very dry with the emotion.

It wasn't often she did such things.

But then again, when one is going to visit the grave of a loved one, one does strange things.

Opening the door to the large main office, the room awash in a cozy glow from a lamp piece, highlighting the picture of pre headmistresses and headmasters, she saw that Shreya was sitting in a chair with a purse sitting on her lap, waiting for her.

"Miss Shreya," she said, walking further inside, meeting the woman's eyes. "I'm ready."

"Of course, dear," she smiled warmly, picking herself up and letting a hand rest against her shoulder, leading her out after signing her out as well.

While (Y/N) just as easily could have visited their graves after school, something about doing just that felt wrong to her—off—somehow. Instead, she asked the woman who had been kind enough to let her stay with her and her son if she could visit her parents' graves at the exact time that they died. It was a strange request, but Shreya complied nonetheless. She knew it made (Y/N) feel closer to her parents, maybe that they were there with her for that short time, and didn't complain when having to drive her back and forth.

After all, she had come to love her like her own daughter.

Parking the little beat up car outside the cemetery, (Y/N) clicked off her seatbelt and rounded the other side to grab the bouquet of flowers that were resting on the backseat, waving goodbye to Shreya before she left. The woman never went with her to visit her parents' graves, knowing that she wanted to be alone, and instead opted to wait until it was time to bring her to school again.

That was their deal.

She'd be allowed to visit them, however only on the contrary that she return to school when she was done. Finding the cemetery chilly, even without the rain that still fluttered down on her, having being reduced to a mere drizzle by then, (Y/N) finally found her parents' graves among the many that lay scattered throughout the bright green grass.

It was only natural since she visited every year on the dot.

Crouching down, careful not to let her skirt get wet from the bits of rain that clung to the threads of grass, she lay the flowers down in the connected pieces of concrete, tracing her fingers down the names that were carved, and let her gaze drop. It was strange to think of these people as ones that she was going to grow up with, to be loved by, and raised. While she could remember their faint, happy laughter, and the warmth that came with them, it was foreign.

She could only see herself as a family with Shreya and Amar.

Her mother.

Her brother.

"Mother... Father..." she muttered, her voice seeming to be drowned out by the other sounds around her. "I apologize for feeling this way. I know I should miss you, I know I should be sad... but Miss Shreya and Amar have healed all that hurt. I hope you've moved on knowing that I am happy—that I am loved."

When saying those words, it was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, moving to stand as her smile then turned to one filled with satisfaction and victory.

"Now that was certainly a heartwarming speech," a voice announced from behind her.

Immediately whirling around, (Y/N) was surprised to find a familiar set of eyes staring into her own that belonged to an even familiar owner, her eyebrows furrowing as she tried to piece where she saw him before in her mind.

"Excuse me?"

"I was certainly surprised to see someone else out here," he continued, ignoring her question, instead crouching down next to the graves. "Though, I guess this is perfect weather to visit the dead."

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To be continued...