Aftermath

The bell for lunch rang, and the rest of my classmates from 7C1 quickly left the room. I didn't. I couldn't move. My head was slumped on the desk, the weight of what just happened pressing down on me like a stone. My thoughts were a mess—Kyle, Luke, Atilla—they'd all denied being my friends. I wasn't sure what hurt more, their words or the laughter that followed.

"Miles?"

Miss Wicks' voice was soft, her concern evident. I felt her presence nearby, hovering over me. I didn't lift my head.

"Miles, what's wrong?" she asked, gently placing her hand on my shoulder.

I shifted, my face hidden in my arms. "Sorry, miss. I don't feel like talking right now," I muttered. I wanted to say more, to explain, but the words stayed trapped in my throat. Without waiting for her response, I got up from my seat, not daring to meet her eyes. The weight on my chest only grew heavier as I walked out of the classroom.

"Miles!" Miss Wicks called after me, but I couldn't stop. My face was burning, and my vision blurred slightly from unshed tears. I had to get out of there.

I just walked. I didn't care where I was going. My feet carried me past the blocks near the English department, down toward the PE changing rooms. The usual chatter and laughter of the other students seemed distant, like background noise to the whirlwind of thoughts crashing in my head.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away. Not here. Don't cry here.

"Miles, you ok bro?"

I froze. It was Kyle. His voice cut through the fog in my mind, but I didn't turn to face him. My tears came faster now, but I kept my back to him, trying to act normal. Trying to act like everything wasn't falling apart. I could feel his presence behind me, getting closer.

He called out again, "Yo, Miles! You sure you're ok bro?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. You can't let him see you like this.

"Oh, Kyle..." I said, my voice steadier than I thought it would be. "Yeah, I'm good. Just chilling. Why? What's up?" I forced a smile that he couldn't see, trying to mask everything with casual indifference.

Kyle raised an eyebrow, looking unsure. "Yeah, man, sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to upset you. The girls just caught me by surprise, so I said something dumb."

I shook my head, keeping my tone light. "Nah, I'm not upset. I knew you were joking. Don't worry about it." I straightened up, standing away from the wall where I'd been sitting.

"If you say so," Kyle muttered, scratching the back of his head. "You coming to the canteen? All of us are getting food."

I nodded, forcing a grin, but my heart wasn't in it. "Yeah, I'll be there in a second. I just need to grab something from the PE changing rooms."

"Alright, mate," he said, turning to leave. I watched him walk off, heading back to the others. I could hear their voices in the distance.

Atilla, Luke, Jack, and Kade were waiting for Kyle near the courts. Kade was talking, his voice carrying over the playground. "What happened to that guy? Looks like he died and came back to life!" he joked, his casual smirk making my stomach churn.

Kyle shot them a look. "Nah, guys. Just leave it."

Their voices faded as they walked toward the canteen, leaving me standing there, feeling more alone than ever. I stared up at the grey skies above, the familiar overcast weather of Britain matching my mood perfectly. I didn't feel anything. Not anymore. The anger, the sadness, it was all gone, replaced by a dull headache.

I walked through the playground, my eyes scanning the crowds of students. Year 11s were messing about, the year 8s being as rowdy as ever. But something caught my eye near the edge of the playground.

"James! Show us your dinosaur roar! Haha!" someone shouted, followed by a chorus of laughter.

I spotted the boy they were targeting—James Dean, from 7C3, the bottom class in our year. He had learning difficulties, and a group of kids had singled him out. They always did.

Callum Pridmoore, one of the worst bullies in our year, was leading the charge.

He had ginger hair and a jarring laugh that grated on my nerves. Jamie, the goalkeeper who'd just gotten signed by Southend United, was there too, along with some girls who were half-heartedly giggling, trying to tell Callum to stop but not meaning it.

As James tried to walk past them, Callum shoved him. James, who was smaller than the others, went flying into a bush, his books scattered everywhere. The whole group burst into laughter.

"Turn into a dinosaur, James! Get mad! Come on!" Callum shouted, trying to get a reaction.

I glared at them, I didn't even know it yet but a new feeling in me was starting to develop.

"What's going on here?" Mr. Sheldon appeared, pushing his way through the crowd.

Jamie's eyes widened, and he muttered, "Oh shit!"

Callum quickly changed his tune, his voice dripping with fake innocence. "Nothing, sir. We're just helping James get out of the bush. He fell into it." He flashed a grin that made my skin crawl.

Mr. Sheldon, always the snarky one, pushed up his glasses and looked over at James, who was still sitting in the bush. "Get up, James, and sort your uniform out. Otherwise, you're getting a tick on your expectation card."

I couldn't believe it. "Seriously? The teacher was right in front of them, and he didn't do anything."

Mr. Sheldon glanced at the group, his sharp eyes taking in the scene.

"Jamie, Callum, I suggest you both head back to class. You don't want to be late for your next lesson. And you too, ladies," he said, his tone cold, almost dismissive.

"Yes, sir," they all said in unison, their fake politeness grating on my nerves.

Mr. Sheldon turned on his heel and walked away without another word. His posture was stiff, and calculated. He didn't care about what he had just seen, only about keeping the school running like a machine. Ice-cold. Efficient.

The group—Jamie, Callum, and the girls—gathered their things, laughing amongst themselves as if it had been nothing more than a joke. Like James being pushed into the bush was the highlight of their day.

I watched them go, my gaze narrowing. I could feel my jaw clench, my teeth grinding slightly. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. My eyes did all the talking.

Then, it happened.

Callum's eyes flicked toward me, and for a moment, we locked eyes. My heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, I turned away, breaking the contact as it burned. I could feel the heat rising in my face, not from embarrassment, but from something deeper. Something that made me feel small.

I could hear Callum's voice rise behind me. "Oi, who's that kid?" His tone was casual, like he didn't even care to know my name—just wanted to remind me that I wasn't worth his time.

I didn't look back. I couldn't. My feet moved faster, carrying me toward the next lesson. I just needed to get away, get to something that wasn't... this.

But even as I walked away, I could feel their eyes on me, the weight of their judgment pressing down. It was heavy, but I didn't stop. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing how much it bothered me.

(Future Miles internal monologue)

"I remember the day like it was yesterday. I was in the library when I came across one of my favorite authors, Joseph Conrad, a Polish-British novelist. He said something that resonated with me and forever has:

"'Who knows what true loneliness is—not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion.'"

Conrad's words linger in my mind even now, because loneliness isn't what most people think it is. It's not just being by yourself—it's something deeper, something more insidious. You can be in a crowd, in the middle of a room full of people, and still feel it. Still feel the coldness of being unseen.

But here's a question—can you truly recognize loneliness while you're in it? Or does it only become clear in hindsight, when you've spent enough time trying to convince yourself that you're not as alone as you feel?

Loneliness wears a mask, Conrad said. And I wonder, is that mask one we choose for ourselves, or is it something that others put on us? Do we create the illusions we cling to, or are we pushed into them by the world around us?

We all have memories we hold on to, and beliefs we lean on to keep ourselves going. But here's the thing—are they real? Or are they just illusions, things we tell ourselves to keep the darkness at bay?

What do you think?

The loneliest moments aren't always the ones when we're alone. Sometimes, they're the ones where we realize that no matter how hard we try, no matter what we do, we're still... apart.

And that's when the mask slips, and we see what we've been avoiding all along.

But here's the real question—what do you do when the mask falls away? Do you try to put it back on, pretending it never slipped? Or do you face the truth of it, no matter how uncomfortable it is?

Because maybe... just maybe... that's where change begins."