From the end of the corridor, someone walked with heavy steps. A tall, broad-shouldered figure, wearing a slightly messy uniform and carrying a bag slung over one shoulder. His name was Rooney. He was the son of one of the teachers at that school big bodied, a bit dim witted, and often acted superior just because his father taught there.
When he saw Tufi sitting alone, Rooney stopped in front of the classroom."Hey, what are you doing just sitting there, huh, Tuf?" he said in a deep, mocking tone.
Tufi turned to glance at him, then went quiet again. He didn't want to start anything that early in the morning. But Rooney stepped closer and slammed his hand on Tufi's desk."You're not answering me? What, too proud to talk now? Acting all grown-up, huh, shorty?"
A few students who had just arrived began to notice. Some pretended to be busy, but their eyes secretly glanced toward them. Tufi took a slow breath."I'm just sitting here. Not bothering anyone."
"Yeah, right! Playing it cool again, huh? You were already acting like that back in second grade quiet and pretending to be tough." Rooney snorted and leaned closer. "Wanna fight?"
This time, Tufi looked him straight in the eyes. His gaze was cold, fearless."I don't want to fight."
Rooney laughed. "Scared, huh?"
A faint smile appeared on Tufi's face—but not from fear. It was the kind of smile that came from being fed up."No. But if you mess with me again, you'll regret it."
Rooney shoved his shoulder, hard. Tufi stood up. He tried to hold his temper, but when Rooney patted his head mockingly and laughed, something inside him snapped.
Without thinking, Tufi lifted his knee and struck Rooney's stomach hard."Thud!"
The impact echoed through the hall. Rooney staggered back, clutching his stomach in pain. His face turned red, his eyes almost tearing up. He glared at Tufi furiously but didn't move. The few classmates who witnessed it froze half shocked, half frightened.
Rooney bent down, still holding his stomach."It hurts... you damn brat..." he muttered, voice trembling.
Tufi didn't respond. He only looked at Rooney for a second, then calmly sat back down, as if nothing had happened. No teacher came, no one intervened. Just a heavy silence hanging in the air. Rooney finally walked away, still hunched over, holding back tears. And just like that, the morning passed without another word.
A few minutes later, more students arrived, and the classroom buzzed again. No one really cared about what had just happened. It was as if the little fight had been swallowed up by the routine of school life. But from down the corridor, a middle-aged man was watching. He wasn't a teacher of Tufi's class, but a relative of one known to be strict and arrogant. From afar, he gave Tufi a sharp look, as if holding a grudge. But Tufi ignored him.
Deep inside, he knew who started it. Rooney picked the fight first, not him. So why should he feel guilty? Class went on as usual. The teacher came, opened the book, wrote on the board. Everything looked normal. Rooney sat in the back row, head down, avoiding Tufi's eyes. The others pretended not to know anything. No one brought up the fight again, as if everyone silently agreed to forget it. Yet beneath the calm, the room felt tense like the air between two people who had just exchanged blows.
Tufi stayed quiet. He took notes, listened to the lesson, occasionally glancing out the window. He didn't care what others thought. To him, that morning was just a small mistake not worth remembering.
Time passed quickly. The bell rang for dismissal, and the school day ended. Students rushed out, laughing and shouting in relief. Some ran to the canteen, others headed straight for the gate. Tufi walked out slowly, hands in his pockets. The afternoon air was warm. He strolled home, taking the small path beside the school field. As he passed an abandoned house at the end of the street, he heard someone call out,"Tufi!"
He turned. There stood Lily—a short-haired girl with a cheerful face. She waved with a wide smile."Hey! Come here for a bit!"
Tufi walked over. The house had been empty for a long time, but kids in the neighborhood often hung out there. On the porch were old bamboo chairs and a few dried flower pots. They sat together under the shade of a guava tree.
"You fought with Rooney, didn't you?" Lily asked softly.
Tufi nodded slightly. "Yeah. He started it."
Lily sighed, then chuckled. "I heard he's a teacher's kid. Aren't you afraid of getting in trouble?"
"No," Tufi answered plainly. "I didn't do anything wrong. He just picked on me first."
Lily looked at him for a while, then giggled. "You always look so calm, but when you're mad, you're scary."
Tufi smiled faintly. "I'm not mad, just don't like being pushed around."
Their conversation lightened the afternoon. They talked about little things classes, friends, and funny gossip about teachers who kept mixing up students' names. Lily's laughter was gentle, making the air feel brighter.
More than once, Tufi found himself staring at Lily's smiling face. For some reason, it made him feel peaceful. Not love, like what he once felt for Shelly, but comfort like being with someone who understood without needing many words. They played for a while, tossing pebbles, drawing lines in the dirt, joking until the sun began to set.
"I'm heading home," Lily said finally, standing up.
"Yeah. Take care," replied Tufi.
She smiled before walking off. Tufi sat a few minutes longer, watching the sky turn red-orange.
When he got home, the neighborhood was already quiet. Some mothers were watering their yards; children chased plastic balls down the street. The air carried the scent of earth and wood smoke. In front of his house, as usual, Aunt Hani was cleaning her yard. The woman looked graceful in her simplicity her hair tied back, her hands sweeping fallen leaves from the road.
Usually, Tufi greeted her, even if just with a short "Good afternoon, Aunt," but not this time. He only glanced briefly and went straight inside. Something felt different that evening. Not anger, not sadness just tiredness. Too many things had happened that day fights, stares, thoughts that wouldn't settle. He dropped his bag on the floor, lay down on his thin mattress, and stared at the ceiling. In his mind, Lily's laughter and Rooney's angry face replayed over and over.
"I wasn't wrong," he whispered quietly. "He started it."
Tufi's eyes slowly closed. He fell asleep without realizing, while outside, the sky turned dark and the chirping of crickets filled the night. The next morning, no one mentioned the fight again. Everything went on as usual, as if the incident had been swallowed by time. But inside Tufi, something had changed. He felt calmer, stronger, and a little more mature. He learned that not everyone will like you, and silence doesn't always mean weakness. Sometimes, silence is the sharpest defense.