Unlabeled 🌈

Cigarette Smoke

Chapter Twelve

Behind the school, the air is different. Quieter, but heavier too. The brick wall is tagged with fading graffiti, the kind no one bothers to scrub clean anymore. It’s where the kids who don’t care—or pretend not to—gather between classes.

I shouldn’t be here, not really. But my feet carried me anyway, searching for somewhere away from the fluorescent lights and judgmental stares.

A boy leans against the wall, lighter flicking in his hand. The flame catches, and smoke curls up from the cigarette pinched between his fingers. He notices me but doesn’t say anything, just nods like I’ve been accepted without question.

The smell is sharp, bitter, settling into my clothes. He takes a drag, exhales, then passes it over. My hand hesitates, trembling, but I take it. The smoke burns my throat on the way down, harsh and punishing, like it’s trying to scrape me clean from the inside.

I cough, and he smirks. “First time?”

I don’t answer. He doesn’t push.

For a moment, the silence between us feels like understanding. Like maybe we’re both carrying things we can’t name. The cigarette glows, smoke curling in the air, and I wonder if he feels it too—the ache of being alive but unseen.

I take another drag, slower this time. The smoke doesn’t make me free, but it makes me feel something. And tonight, that’s enough.