(Date: September 30th, 1970)
(Wednesday)
"Novák, how's that checklist coming?" the P.E. teacher called, barely looking up from his clipboard. Tomas stood there, posture calm, clipboard tucked under his arm. "Twenty-four students signed up. Twelve backed out. Eight are unsure," he replied, voice soft but steady. There was a hint of strain beneath the quiet, like a thread pulled a little too tight.
-"Alright, good enough," the teacher mumbled. "Guess I'll start brainstorming something for the event... not sure about the theme yet."
Tomas nodded but didn't respond. He never learned most of the teachers' names. They didn't ask for conversation; they asked for assistance. He didn't mind. Not really. He told himself it was just volunteering. That helped dull the corners of everything. "Sir, it's nearly lunch. I should get going," he said simply. The teacher waved him off, already lost in event logistics.
Tomas left.
He set the clipboard down on the nearest table and headed toward the cafeteria. "Just give me a break," Tomas murmured to himself. But not even one full footstep inside, "Novák, we need you!" A deep, long sigh escaped him. He paused. Reflected briefly. Then turned around, plastered on his iconic smile, and resumed his journey. Again. By the time lunch had rolled around or maybe passed, Tomas had been through three classrooms, one clipboard inventory, and more nods than he could count. He returned the final checklist to the art teacher, setting it down without a word. On impulse, he pulled a loose sheet of paper from the stack. No names. No tallies. Just blank space. It felt heavier than the rest. He drifted past the lunchroom, past the door that led outside, and strolled through the gate into the recess yard. No one was present. Slides gleamed untouched, monkey bars hung still, and the breeze nudged empty swings, like they were waiting for someone to come back. Tomas walked to the bench beneath the old maple tree. Not to play. Not to eat. He just sat in silence, while unfolding the paper across his lap.
His voice didn't speak, but his monologue did:
Note to self: "I'm never doing 'volunteer' work again… Only the ones that are worth the time."
The pencil scratched slowly. Then, as if he were reaching for a familiar comfort, he began to write again, part letter, part release.
(Date: September 30th, 1970)
(Wedneday)
Dear diary,
I'm feeling under the weather today, genuinely. Teachers seem to be killing my mood for the past days with all of these errands and assistance. It's alright, but just so demanding for no reason. Other students are way better than someone like me. They're more talkative, outgoing, and so on. But I guess they're fine using a quiet kid like me. Lara's in class, doing well. Not sick. Hanae has been quiet again for the past few days, possibly two weeks straight. Bruises. Even some bleeding. She covered them up with her sleeves, saying it's from monkey bar attempts. Says it's P.E., but it feels like she's dodging something. Like, she doesn't want me to know. Mom started taking night shifts. Double shifts, even.
The pencil stopped. There was more to say, maybe. But his mind couldn't stretch that far. So Tomas folded the paper carefully, tucking it into his coat pocket like a secret. His arms rested loosely at his sides, his head tilted back. The wind carried the soft scent of sun-warmed pavement and distant lilacs. His breath escaped slowly. And that's when he felt it:
Not a sound. Not a word. But opened his eyes anyway,
Hovering just above him, her braid catching the light and her hazel-brown eyes reflecting soft concern, stood Lara. Her aura was serene, almost translucent. But her smile, small and familiar, softened everything around it. That smile could calm storms or mend cracked hearts without trying. However, she stood very close. Too close. "S-so close", his thoughts screamed. Why is her face so close to mine? Outwardly? Nothing. His expression held firm, nonchalant, unreadable. The quiet armor he wore without trying.
–"Are those people overworking you again?" she asked gently, as if afraid to disturb the silence that had finally settled around him.
-"You said the same thing Hanae told me last week," Tomas replied, voice soft and steady.
Without responding, Lara pulled a small carton of chocolate milk from her coat pocket and handed it to him.
-"You carried this for me?"
-"I always do," she said, sitting beside him, shoulder brushing his lightly. Tomas took a slow sip. It was cold. Sweet. Nostalgic.
"You know how it is," Lara murmured. "Your mom's always working. She barely has time to sit down, let alone keep tabs on your errands. And Auntie Černý? She's rarely home either. Never had the time to say hi or bye. Not a single greeting." She looked down, then back up. "It's mostly been the three of us—growing up too fast and hoping we're doing alright." Tomas didn't answer. He didn't need to. The breeze picked up, leaves whispering overhead. Somewhere, a loud bell rang in the distance. But here, everything stayed still. The space between Lara's voice and his heartbeat held steady. For a good twelve minutes after lunch, no one called him. No checklists tugged at his sleeve. Just the sky and Lara. They sat shoulder to shoulder on the weathered bench, warmed by the sun, protected by the shade, and filled with a silence that spoke more than any question ever could.
The breeze was steady now, rustling through the leaves overhead as Tomas took another slow sip of chocolate milk. His arms rested loosely in his lap, shoulders finally slack after a day spent in constant motion. Then he blinked, glanced at her sideways. "Wait... why are you out here?" Lara sneered, brushing a strand of her braid behind her ear. "Teacher, let me out early. I aced the test, answered all the questions, and turned everything in. Full marks."
-He raised a brow. "Math class?"
-"Yup," she replied, lips curling with pride.
Tomas groaned softly and leaned forward, folding against the bench, already imagining the storm brewing on the horizon.
-"Oh no... then we're definitely staying back a little longer because of Hanae"
-"She's trying," Lara offered gently.
"I know," Tomas sighed. "I helped her study last night. Gave her the breakdown, explained the tricks, even wrote a cheat sheet to revise. She looked at it once... then fell asleep midway through reading it." Lara laughed, the sound light and affectionate.
-"No need to predict your sister's failure, Tomas."
-"I'm not predicting failure," he said, frowning more at himself than at her. "I just wish she'd pushed a little harder. I want her to feel confident, not stuck."
A quiet pause. "She will," Lara said, voice low and certain. "Because she has you. And because she's Hanae. She always finds her footing, even when she stumbles at first." Tomas nodded, the worry in his chest softening.
-"I guess I just want to see her succeed without me hovering behind her like a safety net."
-"That's not hovering," Lara said, leaning gently against his arm. "That's being her twin."
They sat like that a while longer—beneath the linden tree, beside the slow world, and let the moment thin and golden around them. Tomas turned slightly, eyes catching the warmth in hers. And that's when it hit him: Lara's words weren't teasing this time.
They were pure, kind, and genuine. His breath caught.
Then, slowly, the color crept up his neck, spreading into his cheeks with a warmth he hadn't expected. He looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the chocolate milk in his hand. Lara smiled calmly, but didn't say anything. She just scooted a little closer and let their shoulders rest together; the space between them was tranquil. The branches above shifted softly in the wind, scattering pale shadows across the bench. And for once, Tomas let himself lean into the moment. Not just because it was peaceful. But because Lara was beside him. And that made it feel safe. A bit shy and embarrassed… But safe.
The hallway swelled with students as Tomas scanned every braid, backpack, and head, his eyes flicking like a metronome tuned too fast. Hanae was always easy to spot: her grey hair a familiar flare in the crowd, her presence just a little left of center, like a melody in a noisy room. But today? No ponytail. No giggle. No Hanae. His throat tightened. Lara, sensing the tension in him, offered gently:
-"She's probably stuck behind someone. You know how she dawdles..."
- "No." Tomas said it quickly, low, and final.
That one word sliced through her voice like frost. Something was wrong. His thoughts began unraveling.
Hanae's stillness at breakfast. She has a new love for long sleeves. Her changed hairstyle. She was hiding. And he hadn't seen it. She used to be a clean canvas. But lately, she'd been wrapped like a redacted chapter he hadn't flipped fast enough. He turned and froze. A crowd had formed near the lockers, voices rising like smoke. Tomas shoved through, heartbeat crashing against ribs. And there she was: Hanae, backed against cold metal. Her arms bared. Her sleeves tugged. Her bruises glaring beneath fluorescent lights. Red, Purple, Swollen. One boy towered, sneering: "You look like a grey rat. Bet even your brother's embarrassed." Lara didn't hesitate. "No..." she muttered, charging into the mess like armor, pulling Hanae close. "I've got you," she whispered—fierce and tender. Hanae shook, her body folding inward. The bully turned on Lara, mockery still curled around his grin. She ignored him.
Tomas stepped forward slowly. His face was unreadable. "Think this is funny?" he asked, voice direct and sharp.
-The boy scoffed. "Back off, pretty boy, or your precious sister gets another beating from what she did to me in class".
-"Look, I don't know what she did to you, but you've made your scene," Tomas said. "I'm sorry for whatever my sister has done to you, but please walk away. I'm asking nicely."
-"Not good enough. You're sister snitched on me for something I didn't do. Even though I ALREADY WARNED HER!" The boy spat out as he went toward Lara and Hanae's direction, pulling the back side of Lara's shirt while she fought back from the bully. While she gripped Hanae closer towards her.
-" You sexually assaulted a girl in the back of the classroom! So how can someone stay silent on that? Plus, why is a fifth grader like you always wandering into my class period?!" Hanae yelled at the bully, which quickly led to a different path.
Just hearing that left Tomas shocked. The conversation went back and forth to the point that someone had to take action. Who cares if it's a kid or not, just someone at least.
-" YOU CALLED IT, YOU SON OF A BIT-"
- "Hey, let's deal with this later!" Stepping in between both parties, he tried to ease the problem. "If you have you're own grudge, keep it to yourself. But, don't pull my sister into you're own dilemma. She did what was right to defend herself and that individual. If you have issues with it, then why do it in the first place? If you know, it's going to be such a hassle for you in the end." Tomas said, stating a certain point. But simultaneously staying neutral.
-The boy spat. "What pretty-boy? You have no idea what that rat-of-a-sister of yours did to me! If you want to protect her, then I want to see what you can do. Are you gonna take action into your own hands or are you going to report to the authorities?" He shoved Tomas hard, both hands.
Tomas stumbled, but kept his balance. "Look, I'm not a fighter," he said. "But I know what you're up to." Then the punch came. It was Fast, Hard, and straight to his temple. It rang through his skull like brass, staggering him against the lockers, while his vision doubled. Even splitting his lips in the process as the warmth of blood trickled down from that one heavy blow. Even though Tomas was inexperienced, he still threw his weight into the boy's chest without hesitation. It was messy, off-balance, and not graceful. But he hit. The boy stumbled: Anger flared; then, a punch clipped Tomas's jaw, and another hit his ribs sharply, leaving him breathless. The kids weren't done, though; his knuckles slammed against Tomas's shoulder, dropping him to the ground, as he gasped from the agony. Hand scraped against the tile, then he rose: Head pulsing, Knees shaking, Lip bleeding freely now, but he grew.
-"This is quite fun, when you slowly get used to it," he panted.
The boys weren't anxious at all. Not one bit. Those fifth-graders kept going on and on, to the point that Tomas was barely standing. No student intervened to stop the russell, and no teachers came. Where the hell were they? Having tea time? While a second grader fights against a 5th grader? Another shove, another punch to his chest. It went back and forth till his fist slammed into the bully's jaw with full force to make him stumble. Leaving the audience amazed yet frightened.
-"Tomas," Lara said suddenly, eyes wide, voice trembling. "That's enough."
He didn't answer. The boy lunged again, caught his shirt mid-motion, twisted him sideways, and slammed him against the lockers. Metal rang, while the boy panted. Furious. Rattled. And finally… He dropped his fists. "I'll stop here, you're slowly getting boring to fight with, you twink. If you want to throw a punch, do better at landing them," he muttered, wiping blood from his nose. Tomas just stared—lip split, knuckles raw, temple of his scalp bleeding, and his eyes dark and swollen. "See you then, I guess.." he whispered, "Geez, haven't heard that in a while." Muttering to himself again as he held his stomach to suppress the agony, while wiping the blood on his temple that was trickling down. The crowd broke like fog in the sun. One by one, they left. The noise faded, and the hallway settled. Tomas turned to see Lara still holding Hanae close, eyes glistening. Hanae looked at him in horror and in awe.
-"You're bleeding," she whispered.
-"So are you," he said, while his voice cracked.
She reached for his hand and held it. Not to steady him, but to remind him that the fight wasn't just survival. It was adoration and care.
Tomas knelt beside Hanae slowly, every movement weighted by bruises forming along his ribs and the sting blooming across his lip. His hands trembled, not from the fight, but from the sight of her. She looked so small now. Sleeves tugged down again like they could undo the damage. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wide and glassy. Without speaking, he reached up and gently brushed her fringe back, his fingers barely grazing her skin.
-"I didn't know," he whispered, the words breaking at the edges.
-"You weren't supposed to," Hanae murmured, swallowing hard. "I didn't want you to."
-"I promised to protect you,"
Tomas said, voice rising—not from anger, but from ache. "I promised to protect you at all costs. I've seen you clean, and now I see you hurting. I should've noticed the stillness. The long sleeves. The way you changed your hair. I should've pulled you aside, asked more questions, held on tighter."
Hanae blinked against the tears gathering in her lashes, her lips trembling too hard to form a response. Lara didn't speak. She just kept her arm steady around Hanae's back, grounding her with a touch full of quiet understanding. Tomas exhaled, long and slow. His face softened as grief and guilt curled around the edges of his eyes. His gaze dropped to Hanae's hands: still scarred, still vulnerable. But when she reached out, her fingers locking tightly around his, he felt warmth pressing against the regret in his chest. She pulled him in without asking. Wrapped her arms around him. And hugged him with everything she had. Tomas smiled gently into her shoulder, the kind of only siblings share when words aren't enough. But inside, beneath the calm, he showed a deeper weight pressed into him: A hollow reminder that he'd come close to being too late. He hadn't caught her at the beginning; he didn't shield her when the bruises first bloomed. And it tore at him in quiet waves. But now, in this moment, her arms around him, her tears staining his sleeve—he knew she forgave him. And that forgiveness hurt. Not because it was given.