FRACTURE

I don’t like going to biology class. It’s boring... at least to me. No matter how interesting my friends say the topic is, I can never focus—not even for a single moment. I try my best to keep my eyes fixed on the whiteboard, but my eyelids seem to have a will of their own. No matter how hard I fight to keep them open, they slowly surrender, as if my body itself refuses to listen.

Monday and Wednesday are the two days I attend coaching classes for maths and biology. But sometimes—or maybe most of the time—I don’t go to the biology class. I bunk it.

Today, after finishing my maths class, I walked with a friend to his house before taking my own route home. I only went with him to spend a little time... or maybe just to waste it. After we parted ways, I slowed my pace on purpose, barely moving my legs fast enough to make progress. I wanted the journey home to take exactly an hour and a half.

Yes, I walked for more than an hour simply to waste time, just so my parents would think I came home after both classes had ended.

Most people who bunk classes spend their time laughing with friends in a small café, wandering through a park, or doing something they’ll remember fondly. But me? Here’s yet another piece of evidence of how lonely I really am. I had no one to be with, so I wandered the crowded, noisy streets by myself, stretching every minute I could... completely alone.

When I walk that slowly at night, surrounded by strangers, it almost feels as if I’ve slipped into another dimension. Everything around me keeps moving while I remain trapped in my own thoughts. The headlights of passing cars flash across my eyes, each one reminding me of the guilt I carry—not because I skipped the class, but because of how miserable my life feels.

And sometimes... I wonder if I’m the only reason it’s this way.