The soft winds carried the faint scent of Maoni trees, their leaves swaying like whispers in the breeze. The sun was still warm but no longer harsh, painting the schoolyard in the gold of late afternoon. Most students had left, and the air was filled with the familiar silence of a day winding down. He was still here, wandering aimlessly through the corridors of his junior high, feeling like something was keeping him from going home.
Maybe it was the way the air held a strange sort of weight, or maybe it was the way he felt as if he couldn't leave just yet. His footsteps carried him through the silent corridors, every step a reminder of the rules that usually defined his life, but today felt different—like the world was holding its breath.
He found his way to the back of the school, where the old hall stood. The old hall, tucked away from the busy corners, always felt like a sanctuary. There was peace here, the kind of peace that soaks into your bones and makes the world seem a little softer. He found his usual spot on the porch, the porch there had always been a quiet refuge, a place where he could sit and gather his thoughts.
Today, it felt particularly peaceful, the kind of peace that wraps around you like a soft blanket after a long day. He found himself on the porch of the old school hall, resting against the wooden frame, feeling the rough wood beneath him, letting the tranquility wash over him.
But that quiet didn't last long.
A soft sound—a groan, laced with pain—broke the stillness. It was so gentle at first that he almost thought he imagined it. But no, there it was again. It was a voice he recognized. He turned toward the sound, his brow furrowing, and there she was.
She was the girl he knew from the Red Youth Cross. She wasn't a stranger, but they weren't exactly close either. They had shared moments in meetings, and worked together during events, but they had never really spoken beyond what was necessary.
She always seemed like someone who handled herself well, someone who never needed help. But now, as she sat there against the wall, knees drawn up, one hand gripping her stomach and her face pale, she looked fragile—like a delicate leaf clinging to a branch in autumn, ready to fall at the slightest gust.
Her long brown skirt pooled around her, blending into the shadows cast by the tall wall. She had that quiet dignity about her, even now, despite the obvious discomfort. Her eyes met his, and for a second, she tried to smile, as if to say, Don't worry. I'm fine. But it wasn't convincing. She was in pain—a real pain, the kind that ripples out from a small epicenter and eats at your strength.
He wasn't stupid, even if he was naive in some ways. She wasn't fine. He glanced around, the weight of the school rules creeping in like shadows. Boys and girls weren't supposed to be together like this. Even the smallest interaction could cause whispers, and whispers could turn into rumors, and rumors could ruin people.
The rules were strict. But seeing her like this, pale and in pain, made him forget all of that, even if it only for a moment. They couldn't be seen together, not like this. But what could he do? He couldn't just walk away.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice breaking the tension in the air.
She looked up, her expression strained but trying to remain calm. "Nothing... I just... I haven't eaten since this morning. It's no big deal, I'll be fine."
"Do you need help?" he asked, stepping closer, though still hesitant.
Her silence was filled with indecision. She needed help but couldn't bring herself to say it. It wasn't just her pride—it was the awkwardness of asking him, the leader, to bend the rules for her.
She knew he was the leader of their organization, the one everyone looked up to, and she didn't want to burden him. But she also didn't have the strength to deny her own need. Still, she bit her lip, uncertain.
YOU ARE READING
The Unspoken
RandomThe path never taken. The stories never written. Everything that could, would, or should have been Contemplating alternate realities and the regrets associated with choices not made. Creating a sense of nostalgia and reflection invites us to conside...