chapter 4

After my words, a heavy silence hung between Lia and me, broken only by the noise of the cafeteria around us. For a while, she simply stared at me in silence, trying to process what she'd just heard. Her usual optimism and cheerfulness gave way to a shy awkwardness and confusion. What I said had hurt her — the pain was clearly etched on her face. Maybe deep down, I had hoped that after my outburst I would feel some relief, but instead, I felt even worse. “Sorry” — that single word was all I needed to say to try to fix things. But instead of sincerity, she heard only the tapping of my fingers, drumming a slow rhythm on the wooden tabletop, waiting for her response. It was hard for her to hold my piercing gaze, so she was the first to break eye contact, looking anywhere but at me.

“I…”

At last, Lia’s voice came, trembling and soft. She was nervous, searching for the right words without realizing there was no perfect answer. I knew I had to step in, offer her a genuine, reassuring smile, maybe gently pinch her cheek to bring back her usual lightheartedness. But I missed another chance to choose the right path. I watched dispassionately as her small frame curled inward, like a kitten caught in the rain. It was hard to witness this scene unfolding before me, but at the same time, I reveled in my own cruelty, the pain coursing through me, and the fact that someone was sharing this burden with me. Kindness, mercy, compassion… I wished I possessed those qualities, but how could I when I so rarely experienced them myself? Harsh demands and high standards had been expected of me from a very young age.

“I don’t think it’s possible. Felix… lives in the dormitory, so I probably can’t help him with the garden. But... there’s an academic art contest coming up soon. If I knew how to draw, I’d definitely help him with that. His dark circles grow deeper each day; I think he’s pulled several all-nighters preparing.”

Lia spoke gently, trying to steady the tremor in her voice, then forced a smile and met my eyes again. It was a strained, awkward smile hiding how she really felt. “Enough, Aurora. Stop,” I thought, slowing and then stopping the tapping of my fingers. I sighed quietly, closed my eyes, and when I opened them, my lips curved into a familiar smile that mirrored hers. I had to put on that mask again.

“I see.”

I said shortly, giving her a casual look. I gave back the Lia she knew, once again hiding the real me somewhere in a dark corner where no one would see the ugliness.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I probably just didn’t sleep well last night.”

I added with a playful grin, reaching out to pinch her cheek before smoothly rising from the bench. It took her a moment to realize why I had changed, but my excuse seemed believable enough to convince her. Lack of sleep is a banal but common reason why people can be a bit more irritable than usual. Gradually, the tension left her body; she exhaled and let herself relax. The smile on her lips was no longer forced but genuine, though a trace of sadness lingered on her face.

“It’s okay, we all have off days. I’m not mad at you, honestly. After all... you gave me my own advice, right? I still think it’s good, it just doesn’t work for me. But... I want you to try going to bed earlier tonight, okay?”

Lia said with a gentle smile, carefully picking up the tray with what was left of her food, then stood up after me. I glanced at the watch on my wrist. This hour had flown by — I wished time at lessons would pass as unnoticed as lunch break. It was time to head back to class.

“So... Felix lives in the dorm, huh? I didn’t know that. Care to tell me something else interesting about him?”

I said with a sly smile and a mischievous sparkle in my eyes, casually throwing an arm over her shoulder as we walked toward the cafeteria exit. Despite the grin, my surprise was genuine. I knew Felix got into this school because of his artistic talent and that he was Kai’s best friend — nothing more. The only thing he posted on social media were pictures of his art, no personal details. I’d never bothered to peek behind that curtain.

“I’ll think about what I can tell you and let you know later!”

Lia muttered quickly while returning the plastic tray with dirty dishes. When I mentioned Felix’s name, her face flushed, even her neck turned red. I hadn’t meant to pry, but my question evidently caught her off guard. Judging by her reaction, she knew a lot more about him than she wanted to share. I studied her pink cheek curiously, so close to mine. I opened my mouth to ask more, but Lia deftly shrugged my hand off her shoulder and hurried toward the door to disappear down the school corridor. Her short little legs moved swiftly, desperate to avoid this unscheduled interrogation. For the first time in a long while, a quiet, genuine laugh escaped me.

I didn’t chase after Lia, letting her slip behind the heavy door. Only a couple of minutes remained before the next lesson, but this time I didn’t rush. My mind swirled with thoughts about the past hour — Kai’s return after a week away, the conversation between him and Felix about what Kai had been up to, and of course, the tense talk with Lia. I almost crossed a line, almost revealed things she shouldn’t see. I needed to be more cautious, to keep control. Like always — I felt utterly awful. Maybe someday things would get better — I hoped so.

I watched the students running through the spacious school hallway with detached eyes. Even when the bell rang, I didn’t pick up the pace. When I opened the classroom door, the lesson had already started. The tired gaze of the elderly, gray-haired teacher met me. But instead of scolding or asking why I was late, he continued his lecture.

“...Remember, children: it’s very important to understand the concepts of the world’s major religions! Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and Judaism. Even if you don’t believe in God and subscribe to Darwin’s theory of evolution, you must respect every faith. Perhaps one of you will become a diplomat; someone may become a global celebrity. After all, many students come from families that do business with foreign partners...”

The teacher droned on monotonously, his eyes fixed on my figure. I stood in the doorway like a criminal caught red-handed. I didn’t know if I was allowed inside or should stay there. Finally, the man sighed heavily and gestured toward my desk, inviting me to join the class. But that brief relief barely touched me. As soon as I sat down, the teacher looked at me again.

“Respect is the foundation of everything, isn’t it? I hope everyone here agrees. It’s important to respect others’ opinions, their religion, their property... and to respect their time. Tell me, am I right, miss...?”

He asked, raising an eyebrow. His voice remained calm and measured, but even that tone couldn’t hide the reproach directed at me.

“Aurora. My name is Aurora. And yes... you’re right.”

I managed to say, struggling to maintain eye contact. I sat frozen at my desk like a robot. Inside me, a paralyzing anxiety exploded, as if any movement would prompt the gray-haired man to slam the desk and pass sentence. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me — some curious, some mocking, some sympathetic. I so wanted to run away, but I couldn’t. “Endure, Aurora. This will be over soon,” I mentally urged myself, clenching my thighs.

“Aurora? Excellent. I’ll remember that name.”

The teacher said with a smile, but it was without warmth or joy. It was a warning, a bad omen of what was to come. At that moment, I realized a simple truth — the magic of my secluded corner was gone. I would no longer remain invisible.

“You’re late for class... You showed disrespect to my time, to your classmates’ time, and to everything I say. Lunch break ends at the same time every day, doesn’t it? You could’ve rushed to be on time. But instead, you leisurely opened the door as if it were nothing unusual. That was your choice, and now you must face the consequences. I expect a presentation on Buddhism for the next lesson. It will be a public speech in front of all your classmates, so prepare well. My time in exchange for yours. Fair and square.”

With those words, the teacher finished speaking, slapping his hands on the desk to signal the end of the topic. My sentence was simple and clear. I wanted to apologize, to object, but I knew it would only make things worse. Choice... and consequence.

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