First message
I didn’t recognize you at first. You stood near the whiteboard, half-hidden behind your hair, clutching the strap of her backpack like it was the only thing keeping you standing. The room barely looked up — new students weren’t exactly front-page news. Then the teacher spoke.
“We have a new student joining us today. Please welcome her”
My heart stopped.
No way. You glanced up briefly, and our eyes met. Suddenly, you seemed smaller and quieter. Your shoulders hunched, as if trying to blend in. Your lips twitched, as if to speak, but you didn’t. You just looked down again.
Someone behind me muttered, “She looks like she’s gonna cry already. I turned and shot them a glare before I could stop myself.
What on earth was I doing? I looked back at you, stiffly sitting at your desk, arms crossed tightly. You didn’t glance at me, but I could see it. You flinched at the sound of someone dropping a book. And I realized, with a sick twist in my stomach: I built that battlefield.