The classroom was silent except for the ticking of the wall clock and the soft scratch of pencils on paper. It was exam day—Biological Sciences. The air felt heavy with focus, nerves, and the pressure of quiet heartbeats.
Lina sat near the back, hands trembling slightly as she filled in her answers. Her pencil was gripped tightly, knuckles pale from how hard she held on. She was halfway through question nine when the boy beside her leaned in.
Snap.
Her pencil broke clean in two.
"Oops," he muttered under his breath, smirking just enough for her to notice.
Lina stared down at the cracked wood in her hand. For a moment, she couldn't move. The silence around her didn't break—but it deepened, grew thicker. He went back to writing like nothing had happened.
She didn't say anything.
Instead, she closed her eyes briefly. Breathed in. Then looked around the room.
No one saw.
Or rather—they had, but they didn't care. Heads were bowed over exam sheets. Eyes stayed locked on their own pages. Some had clearly noticed. None of them moved.
Except one.
Aiden.
He shifted slightly in his seat by the window, his gaze flicking toward her. Without a word, he unzipped the inner compartment of his leather pencil case, where a neat row of sharpened pencils lay waiting.
He chose one. Clicked his sharpener until the tip gleamed. Then stood.
The legs of his chair scraped against the floor. Heads turned. Even the invigilator glanced up from her desk.
Aiden crossed the room.
No one said a word.
He placed the pencil on Lina's desk. Not a look. Not a sound. Just a small, deliberate gesture.
Lina didn't move at first. Her fingers hovered. Then slowly, she reached out and took it.
No "thank you."
No eye contact.
But for the first time, she accepted help.
Aiden returned to his seat like nothing had happened. Like he hadn't just shifted something in the air.
Murmurs rippled across the classroom.
"Did you see that?"
"Why did he…?"
"Wait—did Aiden just help her?"
Even with the invigilator giving warning glares, the whispers wouldn't die down.
"Quiet!" the teacher snapped. "This is an exam hall."
But the hush didn't last.
Not after that.
When the time was up, the teacher gathered the papers, glancing over the students as she collected the last sheet. "I hope you did your best," she said. "There won't be any second chances."
Then she stepped out.
The moment the door clicked shut, the classroom erupted.
Chairs scraped. Students leaned across desks.
"Are they, like… talking now?"
"Is he defending her or something?"
"Since when does he care?"
Aiden didn't respond. He simply stared out the window, elbows resting on the desk, jaw tight.
Then he saw it.
Lina stood up quietly, collecting her books in silence. She moved fast, clearly hoping to get out unnoticed.
But someone had stretched out a foot in her path.
She didn't see it.
Her ankle caught on the shoe, and her body crumpled forward—books flying, papers scattering across the floor. Her knee hit the tile with a sickening thud.
A few students gasped. Someone laughed. Others sat frozen.
Lina didn't cry. She didn't scream. She stayed there for a moment, hand pressed to her knee, then slowly stood and began gathering her things.
She didn't look back.
And Aiden didn't move.
But his eyes never left the door she'd walked through.
And this time, what twisted in his chest wasn't irritation.
It was fury.
—-
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual noise—trays clattering, laughter bouncing off walls, conversations overlapping in meaningless static.
Then everything stopped.
Aiden picked up his tray and walked—not toward his table of supposed friends who wore their smirks like masks, not toward the window where he usually sat alone—but straight to her.
Lina.
She was hunched over her tray, sitting alone again. Stirring her cold rice with a fork she hadn't used to eat. Just turning the food in circles like it might disappear.
Students parted as he passed, falling into a stunned hush.
He sat across from her.
She didn't look up.
Aiden leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. He watched her quietly, not bothering to speak.
She didn't eat. Didn't move.
Then a ball of crumpled foil came flying from across the room—fast, targeted.
Aiden caught it mid-air.
His hand snapped up like it had a mind of its own, fingers curling around the foil with perfect timing.
Then his gaze turned.
Sharp. Deadly.
He stared straight at the table where it came from.
"Throw something again," he said, low and calm. "See what happens."
The words weren't loud, but they cut clean through the room.
Silence followed.
No one moved.
No one laughed.
He dropped the foil onto the floor like it was garbage. Then pushed his drink—half-finished orange juice—across the table toward her.
She didn't take it.
Didn't even acknowledge it.
Aiden didn't look surprised.
He just went back to eating.
Around them, eyes stayed glued, whispers passing .
Was it pity?
Curiosity?
No one knew.
And Aiden wasn't going to explain.
Something in the cafeteria had shifted.
And in the stillness, as Lina finally lifted her fork and took a bite, Aiden said quietly—
"You shouldn't always have to eat alone."
She froze.
Not dramatically. Just for a moment.
Then went back to her food.
No reply.
No look.
But she didn't leave or stop him from sitting there.
And that, for now, was enough.
—
The end-of-day hallway was a stream of chaos—students pushing toward the exits, lockers slamming, laughter echoing. Flyers littered the ground. The world was moving too fast.
Then someone shoved her.
Hard.
Lina stumbled forward, hitting the floor. Her books spilled out of her arms and scattered across the floor. Gasps filled the air, followed by laughter.
"Oops," one girl said, walking past. "Maybe try walking like a normal person."
A boy snorted. "Is she deaf, or just slow?"
No one stepped in.
Lina stayed there for a second. Her hair had fallen across her face, her palms pressed flat against the cold tile. Slowly, she began reaching for her things. Her fingers brushed her notebook, but she hesitated. As if even picking it up now meant losing something deeper.
People passed her. No one stopped.
And then Aiden turned the corner.
He moved slowly, his hand tugging one earbud from his ear. He hadn't meant to come this way. Had taken the long route, dragging his feet. For no reason.
Until now.
He stopped.
Saw her.
Kneeling. Bruised. Small.
The students around her barely noticed him—until they did.
Their voices died.
Aiden walked forward.
He didn't rush.
He didn't glare.
He just knelt beside her.
And began to pick up her books.
Lina froze. Her hands stilled mid-air. Her eyes didn't meet his, but her breath caught, almost in disbelief.
Aiden didn't say a word. He stacked her books gently, set them in her arms, and stood.
Then he turned and looked around.
Not at her.
At them.
The ones who had laughed. The ones who had shoved. The ones who had stood still.
His stare was cold.
And it cut deeper than any shout could have.
Regret flickered across a few faces.
Others just looked away.
Lina held her books tightly. Her arms trembled slightly from the weight of the books, and of everything else.
Aiden walked away.
Not a glance back.
But she watched him go.
And her world, for the first time in a long time, no longer felt completely alone.