The teacher asked me to stay.

  I was about to say something lazy—like "I have important business, lying down and existing"— when suddenly Alexia touched my palm.

  She didn't say a word.

  Just took my hand.

  Her face darkened. Not with fear—it just darkened, as if someone had turned off the light.

  She held my hand for a minute.

  Stayed silent.

  Then let go and walked away, without even looking at me.

  I was left alone.

  Teacher Elandr watched me closely. Too closely.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  "Is everything alright with you?" he asked.

  "I don't know," I answered honestly.

  He waited for me to continue.

  "I don't understand why I'm here," I added. "You... you can't teach me anything."

  I said it bluntly. Without malice. Without defiance.

  But I saw how it struck him.

  He was silent for a few seconds.

  "Alright, Greg," Elandr said quietly. "You may go."

  Alexia wasn't at lunch.

  It was strange. She was always there. Even when she didn't want to be—she was there.

  Anna sat across from me.

  "May I?" she asked.

  I nodded.

  She touched my palm.

  And flinched.

  "Oh gods, Greg..." she whispered. "Such sorrow... such sadness..." "I don't know," I said. "And darkness..." she continued. "So very deep."

  Her hand began to warm me.

  Not from the outside. From the inside.

  As if someone had gently placed warm coals right inside my chest.

  And then tears started falling from my eyes.

  Not suddenly. No sobbing.

  They just flowed.

  "What's wrong?!" Anna said sharply.

  I panicked.

  Yanked my hand away.

  "Don't touch," I said, entirely too harshly.

  Stood up.

  And left.

  The room was quiet.

  I lay on the bed.

  Stared at the ceiling.

  And for the first time in a long while, I thought:

  If a touch hurts... does that mean I still want to live?