Unbound Affection

She fiddled with her fingers, biting her lower lip, and stared down at the polished floor reflecting off the light. Her stomach churned, giving her a weird feeling that could not be explained. She blinked many times and gulped down her saliva to relieve her dry throat. “Viola,” the headmaster called as he read the files. She looked at him at the mention of her name. “Do you know where your class is?” He closed the file and rested his arms on the desk. He adjusted his round glasses and leaned forward. “No,” she replied. Her voice came out low, barely audible, as the noise out in the corridor was loud enough to echo in the headmaster’s large empty room. She remained silent for a moment, knowing that her voice had not travelled through the air to reach those old ears. So she shook her head, indicating a “no.” “You’re nervous?” Mr Smith, the headmaster, gave an assuring smile, and Viola forced a smile in return. “Just walk to the right, and there is a staircase. The second classroom on the first floor,” he instructed. “Thank you.” She nodded with a slight smile and walked to the door. She took a deep breath, and when she opened the door, her eyes widened. The girls were walking in costly outfits, looking like models. Some of them were in skirts, showing off their smooth, long legs. Am I on a ramp? she thought. The noise of multiple heels clicking on the tiled floor, along with the loud chattering of students, rocked the building. This kind of environment was totally new for Viola. Her previous school didn’t have those lockers, and students were not allowed to wear revealing, stylish clothes. They would be kept in detention if they carried a phone or if they had an R-rated book with them. But here, it was the opposite: no rules and regulations. Almost every student here was a child of a successful person in the town. She sighed internally and looked down at her attire—just a pair of old jeans and a yellow shirt half-tucked in. She was sure she was the odd one out in the building, and she felt uncomfortable in this new environment. She found it difficult to mingle with others, and she rarely made new friends. She continued to walk, her gaze on her brown pair of sandals. She never dared to look around at those sharp eyes staring at her. Her toes curled in when she stopped by the locker; the whole time she was standing there felt like ages. She heard the voices of the group of girls nearby. “Those are cheap clothes?” “Is she new? She looks poor.” “Isn’t she odd?” “Is she sick?” “A transfer?” She ignored those comments and put her stuff away, arranging it in her locker. Bang! She flinched, her sweaty palms covering her ears. Her senses were sharp, and at every loud noise, it echoed in her head. The vibration took some seconds to fade, and a sigh of relief left her lips when it stopped. She pretended like she had heard nothing and acted busy even though she had arranged her books and stationery. Her eyes squeezed shut, and her body stiffened at the noise of the silver trash can crashing on the floor. Her mind made an attempt to imagine the scene happening behind her, but she forced her senses to be in control. She opened her amber eyes when the surroundings grew silent. No one uttered a word, not even a whisper. She closed the locker and turned around, and her eyes widened in horror at what had happened a few minutes earlier. But the bell rang and everyone rushed to their respective classes, as if the person pushed on the floor had never existed. No one bothered to give him a hand as they walked past him as though he were invisible to their eyes. Viola averted her gaze to the dented bin, which was a few metres away from the guy, with litter around and on him. He dusted his hands and removed the plastic wrappers from his body, then let out a low groan and stared down at his dirty white shirt. Was this what was happening inside the famous school? Viola thought as her eyes moved around the empty corridor. Her grip on her books tightened as she took slow steps toward him. She tucked her cinnamon-coloured hair strands behind her ears and squatted down. She held her books to her chest with one hand and then grabbed the pair of spectacles from the ground with the other. She put her books down on the floor to wipe his glasses with her shirt sleeve. “Here,” she said. His gaze moved up to her hand and then to her face. He stared at her. His curly hair was messed up, his lips busted. “What?” Viola asked with knitted brows. Her lips slightly twitched up into a smile. She unzipped her pencil case and took out a packet of tissues. “Take it,” she offered. “Are you new?” he asked, observing her. She nodded and gestured for him to take his spectacles and tissue. “You shouldn’t be doing this!” he snapped and looked away. “Why not?” She studied him, examining his features—his chocolate curls and his square-shaped face. He gulped and rubbed his jaw with the back of his hand. “It’s time for class.” “And, I’m getting late as well.” She shrugged. He turned and looked at her, and his lips twitched when she smiled. “Thanks,” he said, taking the tissue. She watched him rub the tissue against his chin and shirt. “You’ve got to wash that now, otherwise the stain will remain.” She gathered the thrown books beside him. “You can go to class now,” he said and looked down at his shirt and rubbed the dirt off it. “I will.” “I don’t want you to miss class on your first day because of me.” He looked at her. “And thanks again.” He smiled, a deep dimple visible on his right cheek. Her smile widened. “You’ve got dimples.” She chuckled and stood. “I’ll help you wipe that dirt off.” She held out her hand. Sniffling, he grabbed it, and his smile grew as she pulled him up. “I’ll do it myself.” He stepped back and looked at her from head to toe. “It’s nice to meet you, and I’ll get changed, so you can go to your class.” “Sure.” She waved. “And nice to meet you too.” He smiled as he watched her for a while. “Thanks again.” He picked up his books, which she had piled, and waved. “See you later.” He walked towards the changing room. Viola sighed and picked up her books. She stood, and a shriek left her lips, her eyes squeezed shut, as she felt a tight hold around her arm. Before she could register what was happening, her back hit the wall in the blink of an eye. The very next second she opened her eyes, a pair of dark orbs stared down at her like they would kill her at any moment. His upper eyelids were raised, his jaw thrust forward, and his lips were pressed together. She swallowed the lump formed in her throat and curled her lips in. Her brows furrowed. Who is he? What is he doing? “Let me go,” she said, wriggling in his grip. He held her wrists together and pinned them above her head on the wall, making her gasp. He glowered at her, his tall figure making her feel small. She froze, not blinking. Her breath got heavier, and her heart thumped louder. She stayed still, knowing she couldn’t make a move. She stared at him, the misty orbs on the innocent almond ones. His presence horrified her. “I told no one should help him,” he spoke, his voice stern and cold. He had told . . . ? When was that? Why didn’t I hear it? She tried to recall his cold voice making the announcement but couldn’t remember. She remained silent as her mind went blank. She was frightened. Her heart was beating faster, and she heard it herself. He moved his face closer, his squinted eyes never leaving her. Her legs wobbled, her stomach churning. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, mentally begging herself to stay calm. “Why shouldn’t I help him?” she asked. His grip loosened, and quickly she slid her hands down. She moved her head back when he leaned closer. “Because I told you shouldn’t,” he said in a low, stern voice. Viola opened her mouth to object, but before she could utter a word, someone interrupted: “Allen!” The voice came from the staircase. He stepped back and turned around. Viola slowly stepped aside, her eyes fixed on his back. She took another step, then another. Her body froze, and she stuck back to the wall when he turned. “This is not over.” He gritted his teeth and walked away. She stared straight ahead until his figure vanished. “Allen,” she repeated. I hope I won’t run into him again, she prayed.