Chapter 5 First tutorial
1323 Words
Calm Before Lightning
The afternoon sky hung lazily above the campus, washed in gentle shades of pale gold and soft blue, the sun lingering as though it didn’t want to leave yet. Students had begun trickling off the school grounds, laughter fading, footsteps scattering, voices dissolving into distance. But inside the school library—the quietest corner of Colewood High—time slowed.
Silence ruled here.
And in that silence… hearts had room to be loud.
Noah sat at the large wooden table near the back, notebook open, pen placed perfectly parallel, breathing steady. His hair fell slightly over his brow, softening the sharpness of his gaze. He wore something different today — not plain, not invisible. A light sweater, dark jeans, a faint clean scent that lingered around him like quiet confidence. There was still calm in his soul…
…but something else sparkled there now too. Something alive.
He waited.
He hated waiting.
He wasn’t waiting for just anyone. He was waiting for him.
He rolled the pen slowly between his fingers, tapping gently against the paper.
Aiden Cole.
The school chaos. The golden boy. The one who walked like the sun bent toward him. And today, the boy at war with himself.
“Are you nervous?” Noah whispered under his breath, not sure whether the question was meant for Aiden or himself.
The library door pushed open.
Talking stopped. Heads turned. Eyes widened.
He didn’t need to look up to know who entered. He felt it.
Aiden didn’t walk into places. He arrived.
Tall frame. Broad shoulders beneath his varsity jacket. Jaw tight. Eyes intense. Presence impossible to ignore.
He scanned the room. Saw Noah.
And his chest loosened just a little.
He walked over, heavy steps echoing quietly on wooden floors. Students whispered softly, curiosity prickling at the edges of the room. Many had doubted. Some had expected Noah to back out. Some thought Aiden would refuse. None imagined seeing them like this—meeting halfway between flame and water.
Aiden stopped in front of the table.
Their eyes met.
And for a moment, the world softened.
Noah spoke first, voice light but firm.
“You’re late.”
It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t fearful. It was simply honest.
Aiden exhaled through his nose—half amused, half frustrated—and slid into the seat opposite him.
“I had practice,” he muttered.
“You had a future to save,” Noah replied gently, not sharp, not cruel—just truth dressed in softness.
Aiden’s jaw stilled.
The calmness in Noah’s voice wasn’t weak. It was grounding. It was different.
He leaned forward slightly, tapping the notebook.
“We’re going to figure this out,” Noah said quietly. “But you have to stop pretending you aren’t scared.”
Aiden flinched.
There it was. The wound Noah wasn’t supposed to see. Yet he did.
He looked down, fingers curling slightly against the table.
“I’m not scared,” he muttered stubbornly.
“Yes,” Noah whispered. “You are.”
His voice wasn’t mocking. It wasn’t accusing. It was understanding.
Aiden’s chest ached.
No one talked to him like this. No one ever dared strip away his armor.
But Noah wasn’t tearing him down. He was seeing him.
Truly seeing him.
And that terrified him more than failing grades ever could.
“Open your book,” Noah said, shifting the atmosphere back to purpose.
Aiden sighed but obeyed, flipping open his math textbook reluctantly like it was something poisonous. Pages rustled softly. Dust floated in the quiet light. The library clock ticked gently.
“Tell me what you understand,” Noah asked.
“Nothing.”
“What confuses you?”
“Everything.”
“What do you feel when you look at it?”
Aiden hesitated. “…pressure.”
There. Honesty.
“Good,” Noah nodded softly. “We’ll start there.”
He pulled his chair around the table, repositioning himself beside Aiden instead of across from him. Their shoulders nearly brushed. Heat lingered softly in the air between them. Close. Closer than Aiden was used to letting anyone academically.
Noah’s presence wasn’t loud. It was steady. Warm.
He took Aiden’s pencil, writing slowly.
“This is not your enemy,” he said, tapping the equation. “It just feels bigger than you because you’re fighting it alone.”
Aiden watched his hand move—calm, elegant, precise.
“How do you know I’m alone?” he whispered before realizing he spoke.
Noah paused. Then turned, meeting his eyes gently.
“Because I know what lonely feels like.”
Aiden’s breath stilled.
Silence wrapped around them again, but this time it wasn’t heavy.
It was intimate.
Their eyes stayed locked longer than necessary. Neither looked away. Neither wanted to.
Then Noah broke it softly.
“Let’s do this together.”
He explained slowly. Clearly. Patiently.
Not like teachers who threw words like daggers. Not like students who expected him to be dumb. Not like his father who carried pride like weight.
Noah taught like he believed Aiden could understand.
And maybe for the first time… Aiden believed it too.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. Then two.
Their world quietened until it was just breathing, scratching pencils, shared glances, and small breakthroughs.
At one point, Noah leaned closer, pointing to a formula, his hair brushing against Aiden’s arm. Heat crawled slowly along Aiden’s skin. He didn’t move. Didn’t pull back.
He didn’t want to.
Noah’s voice lowered unconsciously, gentle and guiding.
“See? It’s not about power. It’s about patience. Problem solving isn’t about being fast… it’s about slowing down, understanding yourself, and taking control.”
The words weren’t just about equations anymore. They both felt it.
Aiden exhaled shakily through his nose.
“Why do you care?” he finally whispered. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Noah’s lips curved faintly.
“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted softly. “But I want to. And maybe… because someone like you shouldn’t feel like they’re drowning.”
Aiden swallowed.
“I don’t deserve that.”
“That’s not your decision,” Noah replied.
Something tightened in Aiden’s chest. Something unexplainable. Something dangerous. Something warm.
He didn’t know how to handle softness. But he didn’t want to let go of it either.
They worked a little longer.
Eventually, Aiden solved a problem on his own.
Correctly.
He stared at the answer like it wasn’t real.
“I did it…”
Noah smiled — slow, sincere, bright but quiet.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You did.”
No one cheered for him. No loud applause.
Just Noah’s voice. And it meant more than the noise of the world.
Aiden looked at him.
Really looked.
At the boy once bullied, once invisible. Now glowing quietly like moonlight — soft but still powerful enough to influence tides.
“Thank you,” Aiden breathed.
Not casual. Not careless. Grateful.
Noah nodded gently.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
He began packing their books carefully. Aiden didn’t move.
He watched Noah instead.
The world suddenly didn’t feel as heavy.
For the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel like chaos.
He felt calm.
Because of him.
Before leaving, Noah paused beside him.
“Same time tomorrow,” he said softly. “Don’t disappear.”
Aiden smirked lightly.
“I won’t if you don’t.”
Their eyes held. The air thickened. Something unspoken lingered between them.
Promise. Pull. Possibility.
Noah gave one last small smile… and walked away.
Aiden sat there long after he left, fingers brushing the surface of the desk like he could still feel Noah’s presence there.
And for the first time in weeks…
he believed he might be okay.
Not because grades got better. Not because pressure disappeared.
But because someone refused to walk away from his storm.
And slowly…
the chaos boy fell a little quieter.
And the calm boy?
He was slowly becoming the storm.
- Writer
