Global Studies

A Fragile State

In the global studies classroom, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Conversations that usually filled the air with lighthearted chatter were replaced by hushed whispers. Students glanced at their phones, scanning the latest news updates from Ukraine, their faces painted with unease. The conflict had escalated, and now, no one could ignore the gravity of what was happening.

At the back of the room, Alexei sat in silence, staring blankly at his notebook. He could feel the weight of everyone's attention—though no one said it out loud, their eyes occasionally flicked toward him. A few students exchanged quiet words, casting sympathetic glances in his direction.

"I heard Kharkiv was hit hard," one student murmured to another, just loud enough for Alexei to hear.

"Do you think his family's okay?" the other replied, her voice low, as if afraid to speak too loudly in the charged atmosphere.

Alexei's grip on his pen tightened, his knuckles turning white. He didn't need their pity. The whispers, the sympathetic stares—they only reminded him how far he was from home, how helpless he was to do anything for the people he loved.

Amara sat beside him, her hand hovering just above the desk, wanting to reach out but unsure of how to break through the thick wall of silence surrounding them both.

The tension in the classroom grew unbearable for Amara as she watched Alexei sit silently, eyes cast down, the weight of the world seemingly crushing him. The murmurs around him, the awkward glances, the news of the war—it all felt like too much. She felt an overwhelming urge to do something, to speak up, to make the situation more real to the people around her who were treating it like just another faraway tragedy.

Without fully thinking it through, she raised her hand. Dr. Franklin, sensing her urgency, gestured for her to go ahead. "Yes, Amara?"

Amara took a deep breath. "I... I think we need to address what's happening in Ukraine." Her voice wavered, but she pressed on, growing more determined. "We read about these conflicts, see pictures of destruction, but it's easy to detach from it, like it's just another story we scroll past. But this isn't just a headline—it's real. There are real families being torn apart."

She hesitated, glancing at Alexei, who looked up from his desk, his expression confused and guarded. "One of those families," she continued, her voice softening, "is Alexei's."

The room fell silent. All eyes turned toward Alexei, who blinked in disbelief, his confusion slowly turning into something darker.

"I've heard Alexei's stories," Amara went on, her tone becoming more impassioned. "Stories about his family, about how they would gather for big meals, celebrate their traditions, laugh together. They had a life before this war. A life like anyone else. And now, they're just trying to survive. His family—his cousins, his uncles, his aunts—they're all in Kharkiv, right in the middle of this nightmare."

She felt like she was making a point, trying to bring the humanity of the war closer to her classmates, trying to give them a glimpse of the pain Alexei was living through every day. But as she spoke, she didn't see how Alexei's face hardened, how his eyes darkened, and his hands clenched into fists under the desk.

By the time she finished, the room was eerily quiet. No one moved, no one spoke, but the tension was suffocating. Amara turned back toward Alexei, hoping to see some form of gratitude, some sign that he understood what she was trying to do. Instead, his face was filled with shock and anger.

After class, Alexei didn't wait. He pushed out of his seat and stormed toward the door without a word. Amara's heart dropped, and she quickly gathered her things, chasing after him down the hallway.