Dear M

Chapter 3: what a surprise

M led me to the rest of the group: five boys and a girl—Ruth, who, to be honest, I liked from the start. Erick, Michael, Brian, Dereck... and Ruth. Seeing them all there, I felt an odd sense of relief. The mystery I had built around M faded as I realized he was, after all, just another boy. A boy like any other, part of something bigger than himself. But that day, for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I barely spoke. Not even to M. There was something inside me, a quiet weight, keeping me from connecting. My head filled with unspoken words, but they stayed trapped. I could hardly even laugh at the jokes floating through the group, as if my mind had drifted miles away, watching everything from the outside.

Ruth, though, was different. She was the youngest, but something about her resonated with me. We didn't talk much, but we didn't have to. There was this silent understanding between us, like we shared the same shadow. M noticed. And, without making a fuss, he brought both of us into the group. Not separately, but together, as if he knew we were stronger that way—or maybe more fragile. For that brief moment, I felt seen. Appreciated. Even if just for a second.

By the end of the day, I returned to what was supposed to be my refuge: home. But in reality, it was far from it. My father remained stuck in his routine of alcohol and shouting, and I... I simply existed, drifting through the rubble of what had once been a home. Sometimes my uncle or grandmother would show up to "watch over me," but it wasn't the same. That kind of care was distant, temporary. I was 14, and by then, I had already learned that noise and violence were just part of the fabric of life. My older sister, the only one who could truly understand, had escaped. She lived in the university dorms now, and though we were close, she was far away, looking after me from a distance. She sent me money for taxis, for lunch. Practical things. Small things.

I wanted to tell someone about my day. Tell them how M had gone out of his way to include me, how Ruth had been a mirror of something I couldn't quite put into words. But as soon as I crossed the threshold of my house, all those words stuck in my throat. The chaos of home wrapped around me, suffocating me before I could even take a breath. And I realized, then, that it didn't matter how good the day had been. There was always something dark, something heavy, pulling me back down.

Suddenly, amidst the shouting that tore through the silence, my phone buzzed. It was such a subtle sound, I almost didn't hear it. But when I looked down, I saw his name. M.

– M: Hey, did you get home okay?

I smiled. Just a small movement, a flicker of warmth in the middle of the storm.

– Yeah, all good. What about you?

My reply came quickly, almost automatic, but with a softness I hadn't felt in a while. The chaos around me continued, but for a moment, it faded into the background. And then, another buzz.

– M: Same. How was it for you? The guys liked you.

Something in those simple questions hit me deep. Among all the broken pieces of my life, his concern felt like a tiny spark of light. It wasn't just what he said—it was that he took the time to say it. In the middle of the noise, in the middle of the violence that surrounded me, his message felt like an unexpected truce. A pause in the disorder.

I stopped for a second, staring at the screen, trying to process how a message so simple could weigh so much. I felt something loosen inside me, like the anxiety I'd been carrying all day was finally starting to fade. And in that moment, as my fingers hovered over the keys to reply, I realized something: my trust in him—M—had grown in a way I hadn't even noticed. In a world where everything seemed to be falling apart, he had quietly become a refuge I didn't even know I needed.