Things Left Unsaid

Ch 4 Can't you tell?

Hana' POV

I had my hand up so long my arm felt as though it'd fall off. I gave the teacher's back a look of boredom "Miss... miiiisss" I said loud enough for everyone to hear, and some turn and look at me. The child desperate for someone to listen. All I want is for someone to understand and listen.

I repeated myself but to no avail. I squinted my eyes. Swear down Hana she doesn't like you, she's obviously ignoring you on purpose because she thinks you're going to say something stupid like last time... and the time before that, aaaannd the time before th- "Yes Hana, you look as though you're about to burst." Because I was.

I quickly straightened myself up, hoping that she didn't catch me squinting at her back, probably judging her, probably not, "I finished writing first as not to lose my train of thought. Not the best thing to happen to an English teacher you know." She explained, smiling at me, as though she was trying to clear up any assumptions I had made. It worked, I'd give her that. Always had.

"Miss I finished my book I need a new one," she looked at me almost taken aback, then looked down somewhere at the ground with her finger on her chin "Finished? I wonder with what.. you haven't completed or even started a single homework since September." My cheeks flushed red. Strawberry red.

She glanced up at me, and realisation struck in her eyes, " Aha I see. Our perfectionist rips out a page every time she crosses something out or makes a mistake. And I promise I've never seen an excercise book so neat, but I've also never seen one so thin," she smirked and I gave a small laughed too. After all she was right. My books didn't even have my name on it for most lessons, but each teacher had a giveaway that told them its mine.

My ever-so-neat handwriting, perfection, without a single title or date that's not underlined. All words equal in size and shape as though it's been typed out, but a strange kind of messiness, making it look mature and efficient. Or maybe my drawings, neatly coloured or shaded in, inside the lines, sometimes cartoonish and sometimes realistic. My little doodles at the back of books and colourful title pages. My side notes for the teachers to read, sometimes making them rage and sometimes making them laugh. Papers just stuffed in instead of stuck in because I'm a lazy arse. My two months absence, resulting in a huge gap in time in my books, causing inconsistency in work dates and homework.

So for each teacher I'm different. Probably for each student and each family member too. I still dont know if I'm loud or quiet. Or if I'm organised or unorganised. Neither do my parents on parent's evening. PARENT'S EVENING. Just the thought of it is stressful. All kinds of complaints and praises I'll get, and they'll all contradict one another, just like I usually contradict myself. Well done Hana, bet no one could do that.

"There's no more books in this room as they moved all the yellow ones to room 30. You can go and get one from there. Actually," I watched her scan the room, "who else has finished their book or has 1 or 2 pages left?" A series of hands raised. My facial expression immediately changed to that of annoyance. Seriously? And no one asked for another book till I did when I literally still have about 4 pages left?

"So, Hana, that'll be about... 17, 18, 19 aannnd 20 books please, from room 30," I stood up from my chair and walked towards the door loudly saying "Yes miss," waving my hand behind me, at her as everyone watched the scene. "Want anyone to help you?" Help? Since when do I, Hana Ahmed, take help to carry a couple of books from a few rooms away? Never!

"Nah, I'm good miss, thanks for the offer though," I walked out and shut the door. As I was about to turn I saw her face through the window looking right at me. It's that look again. Pity. Oh how I hate for anyone to have pity on me.

I present myself as loud and obnoxious for a reason. I'm strong and brave. I dont need anyone's pity. It doesnt make anyone's situation better. Definitely not mine anyways. I just wish I could have a way to prove it though, the way I prove I'm happy by laughing and smiling even though I'm not.

They say if you smile, you're happy. Yeah, I'm sorry but that's not true. Ya know I believed that for way too long. For way, way too long I thought smiling means I'm happy. If anything makes me smile I'm happy. Well. It's not true. Yea it tells your brain you're happy, but what about your heart? The emotions are felt by your heart. Happiness from the heart is the happiness you should be looking for. It's the one that matters. The one that'll make you feel eternal peace.

If you can't feel the emotion.

If you can't feel the tug on your heart.

You'll find yourself looking away every few minutes. Looking away without a smile on your face, completely zoning out. Your heart elsewhere, somewhere far, where it wishes you were. Somewhere, where it knows true happiness is for you. Where it wishes to be calling out for that feeling. You won't be living in the present. Maybe the future or past . But, either way, it'll be the real you. Just like it'll be the real me.

I'm just waiting for the day I'd find true and eternal happiness, because I know it lies somewhere in the future for me to treasure wholeheartedly.

One day..