CHAPTER FIVE
1369 Words
NADIA'S POV
Twenty-one years ago
“The uniform does not fit,” I frowned , pulling the stiff sleeve of the blazer.
Matron Grace looked at me from her table, her face softened with a warm smile.
“Today,” she said gently, “you’ll walk into that school with your head held high. By the time you return, we’ll find a better fit.”
I nodded. Although, the uniform fit. The collar sat neatly on my neck, the skirt length perfectly at my knees, even the sleeves rested where they should.
But it still felt borrowed.
That morning, I stood in front of Sterling Academy, holding the strap of my bag so tightly. The school looked very beautiful, made with stones and glasses.
Cars came one after another as students stepped out laughing with confidence. They walked through the gates like they belonged there.
At five years old, I already knew what social class meant.
And at Sterling Academy, a social class has its own version. You could feel it before anyone said a word. Everyone somehow understood except me. I noticed it fully on the third day.
Conversations stopped when I approached and resumed after I passed, at lunch, empty seats disappear by the time I carry my tray over.
During assignments,somehow, I was always the last person standing without a pair.
I told myself it was temporary, and I could survive.
The bullying started in the second week.
At first, I refused to give it a name because naming it made it real.
It started with John.
John was thirteen, loud, and carried the careless confidence of a spoiled child. He always moved with three or four people.
The first time, he emptied my schoolbag onto the floor. Someone laughed while he kicked my notebook aside with the tip of his shoe. I knelt on the floor and picked everything up while they watched.
Another day, I returned to the orphanage and found the word FAT written at the back of my blazer in permanent ink.
After that, lunch became harder.
Someone would “accidentally” knock my tray over or spill milk on my shoes.
So I started hiding in quiet corners, empty hallways, the end of the dining hall where no one looked twice.
I kept my bag close to my chest.
For one week, it worked. Then John found me again.
That afternoon, I sat behind the science building with the lunch Matron Grace had packed for me.
I had barely opened the box when a shadow fell over me. John.
Before I could react, he snatched the lunch from my hands.
I stood up quickly, not of courage, just exhaustion.
“Put it back,” I whispered.
John blinked once, surprised I had spoken at all.
As I reached for the lunchbox, he caught both my wrists in one hand.
My face changed instantly as tears gathered my eyes.
“Or what?” he mocked.
Behind me, I heard my bag tossed across the ground, over again.
“Let go of her.”
The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything.
John turned first, and I followed slowly.
A boy stood a few feet away with one hand tucked into his pocket, with calm grey eyes, expression unreadable.
Ten-year-old Elias Brooks looked completely unbothered, but there was something cold beneath that calm.
John tightened his grip on my wrists for one stubborn second. Elias did not move, did not repeat himself. He just stared…patiently.
John finally released me with a scoff and stepped back.
“Whatever.”
The others followed him quickly.
Silence settled between us.
I rubbed my wrist carefully while trying not to cry in front of him. Elias walked forward, picked my bag off the ground, brushed dust off it before handing it to me.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
My voice sounded small.
He nodded once.
Silence stretched between us.
“Elias,” he said, as if I had asked for his name.
“Nadia.” I replied.
He gave a pretty frown that almost drew a smile from me that day, and he said,
“You don't have to stay small for others to be comfortable. You are enough.”
He gave me a short nod again and walked out.
I watched him until he disappeared from my sight, with my mouth slightly open.
That day, I gained a saviour.
I didn’t see Elias again for three days. When I finally did, I was sitting alone on a bench outside the library, pretending to read.
He walked over quietly and sat at the far end of the bench.
“You don’t have to keep hiding,” he said after a while.
“I’m not hiding,” I lied quickly.
He turned slightly toward me.
“Then why do you sit behind lab doors?” he asked calmly. “Why do you eat at the far end of the dining hall? Keep your face down whenever people walk by?”
I looked away.
“You deserve to be seen too, Nadia.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
He stood up and gently patted my hair.
“Meet me here tomorrow.”
That was how we slowly became friends.
John never bothered me again.
Present day
A knock at the door pulled me back to the present.
I blinked slowly, realizing I had been sitting behind the desk for almost an hour after I left Elias alone on the balcony.
Another knock followed, soft, unhurried.
“Come in,” I called.
The door opened, and his face changed in a frown.
I burst into a cautious laugh. I had just imagined his face at ten when he gave that funny frown, and here he was doing it again.
He looked at me with the tray of food in his hands.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I am sorry.” I said, placing my hands over my mouth.
His brows pulled together even more, and that only made it worse.
He shook his head lightly and walked into the room.
“You should be resting,” he murmured as he placed the tray beside the bed.
Then he looked at me directly. “Come and eat.”
The tone was calm, but I already knew refusing was pointless.
I walked towards him slowly as my ribs ached with every movement.
Elias noticed immediately, but he said nothing.
I sat on the bed and picked up the spoon. He sat nearby, watching patiently to make sure I actually ate.
The room felt warm and safe.
“You built this room for me?” I asked after a while.
“Hm.”
I looked around again, every detail feeling too intentional.
“I built it with you in mind,” he admitted quietly, “and hoped…” Then he paused.
My chest tightened.
“You hoped for twenty years?”
He nodded once.
I looked down quickly because something in my eyes threatened to spill over.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For the hospital… the room… the food…” My voice weakened, And for staying alive.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Eat first,” he said softly.
When I finished, he collected the tray and headed for the door.
“Elias.”
He stopped immediately and turned back.
I swallowed.
“I want to start the investigation soon.”
He looked at me carefully.
“Tomorrow,” he said at last, then he stepped out quietly.
I stood there listening to his footsteps fade down the hallway until silence returned again.
After a while, I walked slowly toward the window and stared at the garden. There, I decided I was not going to make myself small, not for Marcus, not for anyone. Never again.
As I turned from the window, I picked up the notebook and opened it one more time.
And then, I saw something I had somehow missed.
Beneath my name was a date, three weeks from now. And beneath it, “Come home.” It was written.
This means that at some point, between the basement floor and tonight, Marcus had returned the book.
And I did not yet know why.
- Writer
