The late afternoon sun dried the ink on scattered exam papers. Ivansia stood in front of the whiteboard, gripping a piece of chalk so tightly its dust stuck to her fingers. Theo sat on a worn-out wooden chair, eyes locked on a line of numbers that seemed to dance around, mocking him.
"You still don't get basic differentiation?" Ivansia's voice broke the silence—cold and shar. "This is tenth-grade material. We're in eleventh grade now."
Theo moved his pen over the paper, producing meaningless scribbles. "I... I just need one more example—"
"I already gave you ten!" The chalk snapped in Ivansia's hand, scattering white dust across the floor. "I spend three hours every day helping you, but your score still can't break 60. What's the point?"
She stared at him, but all she saw was his lowered head and trembling shoulders. "Harvard doesn't care about effort, Theo. They want results."
Theo clenched his fists. The calculus book in front of him felt like a tombstone. "I know. But..." His voice cracked. "I'm not as smart as you."
Ivansia stepped closer. The scent of chalk and frustration filled the air. "This isn't about being smart! It's about willpower! You think I just got this without bleeding for it?" Her finger pointed at the formulas on the board.
"But you never fail!" Theo stood up abruptly, his chair crashing to the floor. "Every test, you ace. Every competition, you win. I..." he gasped for air, "I'm just your shadow."
Ivansia didn't speak. Outside, the wind shook the window, sounding like laughter.
"I don't want to be a burden," Theo whispered, clutching his chest like he was trying to rip out the shame. "I just want... to be someone you can be proud of."
Ivansia stared at him for a long moment. Then slowly, she picked up Theo's notebook—its pages filled with stick-figure battles and metal song lyrics.
"I don't care about most people," she said suddenly, her voice hoarse. "But when I see you doodling while I'm explaining things..." she flipped to a page full of integrals and angry scribbles "it feels like you're laughing at me on purpose."
Theo reached for the notebook, but Ivansia pulled it away. "This is the only way I stay sane," he muttered, his voice breaking. "Math makes me feel stupid. But drawing... here, I can breathe."
Ivansia froze. The notebook slipped from her hands, falling open to reveal sketch after sketch of her: Ivansia reading, Ivansia laughing, Ivansia scowling in that way that always made his heart beat faster.
"Why..." Her voice trembled.
"Because to me, you always shine," Theo whispered, his finger brushing over a sketch of her smiling. "And I... I'm just dust trying to reach the sun."
The room fell silent. Ivansia closed her eyes. Two lines of tears rolled down her cheeks.
"I hate you," she whispered. But her hand gripped his collar and pulled him close. "I hate that you make me care so much."
Before Theo could respond, Ivansia shoved him toward the door. "Go home. We start again tomorrow. 5 PM. Bring all your math books."
The door slammed shut. Theo stood alone in the dim hallway, ears still ringing with the sound of her heartbeat.
---
In the Gym, Past Midnight
The 70kg barbell felt like the weight of every failure pressed into metal. Theo pushed it up, muscles screaming, mind filled only with Ivansia's tear-streaked face.
"You think lifting weights can replace bad grades?"
C appeared beside him, holding a bottle of protein shake. Without waiting for an answer, he placed a 25kg dumbbell on the bench next to Theo. "Harvard isn't a bodybuilding contest."
Theo ignored him. The barbell went up and down, steady with rage.
"But..." C grinned, his voice a hiss. "I can give you a shortcut."
The barbell dropped with a loud crash. "What do you mean?"
C was already gone, swallowed by the haze of clanging dumbbells. On the floor, a rolled-up paper lay waiting with words printed in bold:
IVANSIA'S HOUSE - EPISODE 7
Theo stepped on it. But the words burned hotter than any weight he'd ever lifted.
----
I stared at the door that had been closed for a while now. Theo had already gone home. Turning around, I saw the whiteboard still covered with differentiation formulas.
Around it were the study chair and desk Theo had used, diligently trying to grasp the math concepts I was teaching him.
Two weeks ago, Theo changed after being scolded by our classmate—a faceless boy named C.
Since then, he became more aware of how his actions affected those around him and started opening up to me. I was genuinely proud to see that side of him.
Our bond grew stronger. In class, we shared lunch together without anyone disturbing us.
Strangely, Luna wasn't as close to Theo anymore. It seemed like she had moved on, choosing to focus on herself. Though, occasionally, I noticed her spending time with C.
Honestly, I didn't mind. In fact, it was better that she was with C—it meant I could have Theo all to myself.
But a week ago, things started to get tough. My parents' business was falling apart. They couldn't pay the promised returns to their investors.
Hearing my father's customers yelling made me anxious. Were my parents okay? Would our family be alright?
These thoughts lingered in my mind, even at school. Theo once asked, "Is something wrong?"
I brushed it off, saying, "It's nothing," and shifted my focus to his math test score. A 60—he hadn't passed. He'd need to retake the assignment to improve his grade.
I asked him, "Theo, are you planning to go to university?"
He paused before replying, "Maybe. If you're going, then I'll follow you."
I sighed, recalling what Theo had said. "You know I want to get into Harvard," I said, looking into his eyes.
He smiled, scratching the back of his neck. "I know. I just need to work harder to get into Harvard with you."
"It's not just about hard work, Theo. It's also about talent," I replied.
I pondered ways to help him become smarter.
"How about we study together at my place every day at 5 PM?" I suggested.
That was me a week ago, before realizing he lacked any talent.
I wasn't surprised. Since we were kids, Theo had always been clumsy. So, I wasn't too angry—maybe his determination would get him into Harvard.
But what frustrated me was that every time I explained something, he would doodle in his notebook or daydream during my explanations.
Eventually, my patience snapped. I scolded Theo and grabbed the notebook he often scribbled in.
As he tried to take it back, it slipped from my hands and fell open. Inside, it was filled with sketches of my face.
Once again, this boy made my heart race. He always had a way of calming my anger.
I quickly told him to go home, unable to handle the pounding in my chest and the warmth on my cheeks.
Turning away, I retrieved a childhood photo of Theo and me from my study drawer. Looking at it reminded me of when Theo bravely asked to be my friend.
A smile formed on my lips. I turned back, tidied up the scattered books, and erased the whiteboard.
I was about to go downstairs for a drink to soothe my dry throat after explaining so much to Theo.
Opening the fridge, I took a sip of cold water. In the distance, I heard my father on the phone.
"Please be patient, sir. We'll provide the returns on your investment soon," he said.
[How many times have you said that? We're tired of waiting. If we don't get our returns in two weeks, we'll come to your house with some enforcers.]
I froze. What had my father done to get involved with thugs? I stepped into the living room to ask him about his business.
"Don't worry, dear. It's just a typical business issue. You just focus on studying hard," he said, though I noticed my mother beside him, gently rubbing his shoulder.
I narrowed my eyes at the phone my father had just hung up, still concerned about our family's situation.
Returning to my room, I tried to push away the worries in my heart. Resting my head on the pillow, my breathing slowed, and I drifted off to sleep.
That night, a terrifying nightmare haunted me—our house surrounded by thugs, two suspicious policemen, and our home engulfed in red flames, burning my parents inside.