MBTI high school

Chapter 56:

Chapter 56: The Promised Chapter

ISTJ loved Monday mornings.

Not because he particularly enjoyed school — though he had no objections to the structured order of a well-organized day, complete with pop quizzes he had obviously prepared for — no, what he loved was predictability. Waking up at 6:12. Breakfast at 6:24. The 9-minute, 41-second commute to high school. Arriving just before the doors opened at exactly 7:25. Peace. Silence. Order.

And most of all... the absence of ENFP.

ISTJ sighed with contentment as he entered the school building, his loafers perfectly aligned, his briefcase (yes, a briefcase, not a backpack, thank you very much) clicking shut with elegance. He gave a discreet nod to the school receptionist, who replied with a fond smile — probably the only human being who understood his sacred respect for the rules.

He sat in classroom A22. Everything was perfect. Even the artificial light seemed calibrated not to assault him. He took out his laminated schedule, his revision cards, his calculator. The world was finally...

Calm.
Logical.
Organized.

> ✨ Please imagine here a gentle melody played on a flute or rain falling on a clean window.
(Requested by ISTJ.)

During the break, ISTJ savored his homemade cookies (made by himself, since no one else shaped them square enough).
He arranged them by sugar content and treated himself to a timed tasting. Three minutes of slow chewing per cookie. Ten minutes of mental digestion.
A student passed by and tripped, and without even looking up, ISTJ sighed:

— ISTJ: That’s why we don’t run in the hallways.

Yes. Everything was fine. Even his essay on “The Administrative Impact of Lever Arch Files in Modern Organization” had gotten a 20/20 with special commendation from the economics teacher.
Happiness.

But then. Noulanne had promised to write this chapter in exchange for a certain event now known only as “Cartoon Night” (ISTJ. Microphone. Karaoke. Eternal shame. End of summary. See Chapter 51).

This chapter. Without ENFP.

ISTJ was living THE dream. No more morning yelling. No more “let’s skip class to go alien-hunting in the gym” or “got a cookie by any chance? I skipped breakfast, lunch, and gave my snack to a pigeon.”
ISTJ was living. Or rather, reliving.

Until.

It was.

Time.

For.

The flashback.

---

Sitting alone under a tree during study hall, a flash of memory hit him.

After the “pool” episode (see Chapter 28), ENFP had started harassing ISTJ to become friends.
The guy was a human spinning top wrapped in a green bath cape, shouting “I’M A SPACE TURTLE, LOVE ME!”

ISTJ had thought: I will hate him forever.

Then, weeks had passed. ENFP had followed him EVERYWHERE. Had called him “Mr. Planner.” Had stolen his pens (“They looked lonely, so I adopted them”). Had appeared in his dreams (in the form of a singing cupcake).

And now? He was gone.

Still, his absence left a strange void.
ISTJ, ever the emotional scientist, tried to analyze it:

Symptoms: Prolonged silences. Slight chest tightness. Sudden urges to “check whether someone’s painted my locker pink.”

Diagnosis:
…
…
…
ENFP withdrawal.

He blinked slowly. Then sighed. Long and deep. Almost… tenderly?
Before muttering:

— ISTJ: Fine, Noulanne. Bring him back.

A smug smile appeared on Noulanne’s lips — she had been there the whole time.

— Noulanne: Are you sure? We were about to move on to the part where you play the clarinet. A true nightmare.

ISTJ glared at her. She snapped her fingers.

And in the distance… a cloud of dust.

Not a storm. Not a supernatural event. A person. A human hurricane.

ENFP.

He ran, leaped into the air, and crashed into ISTJ…
…who, with the reflexes of a seasoned soldier, caught him. (Not his first time.)

— ENFP: DON’T EVER DO THAT AGAIN! WAAAH! I thought you were dead! Or worse: THAT YOU MOVED ON WITHOUT ME!

ISTJ, stoic as a Swiss watch:

— ISTJ: Quiet down, you’re yelling.

He took out a handkerchief.

— ISTJ: Wipe your face, you’re soaking my notes.

Then, more softly, with that tone only insiders could detect as affectionate:

— ISTJ: Come on. They made burgers at the cafeteria. The ones you like.

And then — a rare, near-legendary occurrence:

ISTJ took ENFP’s hand.

ENFP blinked. Twice.

— ENFP: ...Are you sure you’re not sick?

But he didn’t let go. And the two of them walked off, arms swinging, toward the cafeteria.

— Noulanne: When are they going to confess their feelings? It’s getting ridiculous.

Ironically said.
By the author.