More Than Meets the Eye

As I walked into class that morning, I could already feel the stares from the students. It was nothing new. Digler, the new guy from Nairobi, had already made his entrance with his usual swagger, turning heads and sparking whispers. I wasn't interested in the gossip, though. I wasn't the type to get caught up in high school drama or care about who was the most popular. I had my own things to focus on.

I sat down at my desk, just trying to get through the class. But then I felt it—a stare. I glanced up, and there was Digler, leaning against my desk with that cocky grin plastered on his face. I raised an eyebrow. What did he want?

"Hey," he said, his voice smooth, like he was just chatting with an old friend.

I wasn't surprised. People like him usually tried to get a rise out of everyone. "What's up?" I replied, not really giving him my full attention.

"You don't seem like you care about the whole 'new guy' thing," he said, more like a statement than a question.

I shrugged. "I don't. People can think what they want. I'm just here to get through school."

He nodded, as if he respected my bluntness. "I respect that. Most people are too busy trying to prove something. You just do your thing, huh?"

I didn't expect him to understand, but he did. That was the thing about Digler—I didn't know much about him, but he wasn't as shallow as he seemed. "Yeah," I said, meeting his gaze. "And I'd suggest you do the same."

We stood there for a moment, just staring at each other, not awkwardly but with an understanding that neither of us had anticipated. I had expected him to keep playing his 'cool guy' role, but instead, he just seemed... real. And I wasn't about to pretend that didn't surprise me.

Digler shifted his weight and gave me a half-smile. "I'm not trying to impress anyone, man," he said quietly. "I'm just trying to figure this out, you know?"

I nodded, feeling the tiniest bit of sympathy for him. It was strange. A guy like Digler, who always seemed to have everything under control, actually seemed a little lost.

"I get it," I said. "School's weird. People always expect you to be something you're not."

Digler looked at me for a moment, like he was thinking over my words. Then he straightened up, his grin coming back, but it wasn't the usual cocky smile. It was genuine, like he was relieved that someone—anyone—had finally gotten it.

"Thanks, man," he said, clapping me on the shoulder before walking off. "I'll catch you later."

I watched him go, a little surprised at how that conversation had turned out. For once, I hadn't been dragged into some pointless school drama. We were just two guys talking, and for a moment, it felt like maybe things weren't so bad after all.

As I went back to my seat, I couldn't help but think about what had just happened. Maybe Digler wasn't just the guy everyone thought he was. Maybe he was more than that. And maybe, just maybe, he was someone who didn't mind that I didn't care about his reputation.

Alright, here's the continuation:

As I sat down and tried to focus on the lesson, I couldn't shake the thought of what had just happened. It was weird—talking to Digler like that. Normally, people would have kept their distance from someone like him, but for some reason, I didn't feel that need to judge. Maybe it was because I knew exactly how it felt to be misunderstood, to feel like people were always looking at you with a certain expectation that didn't line up with who you really were.

Just then, the bell rang, snapping me back to reality. Everyone started packing up, grabbing their bags, and heading toward the door. I stood up, grabbing my books, and made my way out of the classroom. It wasn't until I stepped into the hallway that I noticed Digler again. He was standing by the lockers, talking to some of the other students, but his posture was different—more relaxed. It was like he wasn't trying to be someone he wasn't anymore.

I walked past him, and he waved me over. "Yo, Babzz! You coming to the soccer game later?"

I stopped, thinking for a second. I wasn't really into sports, and honestly, I didn't know if I'd even be interested. But then I saw the look on his face. He wasn't asking to drag me into something. He was genuinely extending an invitation, like he wanted me to be a part of something.

"I don't know, man," I replied, shrugging. "I'm not really into soccer."

Digler just nodded, but the smile on his face didn't waver. "No worries, man. Just thought I'd ask. Maybe next time."

I smiled back, appreciating his effort. As I walked away, I could tell that Digler wasn't just the usual "bad boy" persona everyone assumed him to be. There was more to him than that, and maybe he wasn't the only one who was misunderstood. Maybe I, too, was just trying to figure things out.

Later that day, I found myself walking to the school courtyard, and as I passed by the student body hanging out, I spotted Ali sitting on a bench by himself. He was the same as always—silent, his head down, like he didn't belong. No one dared to approach him, not even his old friends. It made me feel a little uneasy. I'd heard the rumors—about how Ali was a troublemaker, about how he had no real friends, how he was just someone people avoided.

But seeing him like that—alone, out of place—it didn't sit right with me. There was something about the way he looked, the way he seemed disconnected from everyone, that struck a chord in me. I couldn't stand seeing someone like that. Maybe it was because I had once been there myself—feeling like no one understood me.

I walked over to him, not really knowing what to say, but feeling like I had to do something.

"Hey," I said, sitting down next to him.

Ali looked up, surprised. He didn't say anything right away. Just stared at me, like he was trying to figure out why I was talking to him. Then, after a beat, he nodded slowly. "What's up?"

I shrugged. "Not much. Just thought I'd sit with you for a bit."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Why?"

"Why not?" I replied. "You look like you could use some company."

Ali seemed to consider my words for a moment before he leaned back on the bench and let out a long sigh. "I guess..."

It wasn't much of a conversation, but it was a start. I didn't know what was going through Ali's head, but at least I had made an effort. And that was something, right?

As I sat there with him, I couldn't help but wonder how things were going to unfold. I had no idea what would happen next, but maybe this was the beginning of something new—for both me and for Ali.

As we sat in silence, the awkwardness gradually faded. Ali's guarded demeanor seemed to soften as he glanced at me again, his expression more curious than wary.

"You're not like the others," he finally said.

I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Most people just avoid me. They've already made up their minds about who I am. You didn't."

I shrugged. "I don't care about rumors. People love to talk. Doesn't mean they know the truth."

Ali looked at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're right. They don't."

For the first time, he seemed relaxed, like he wasn't carrying the weight of everyone's judgment. "So, what's the truth, then?" I asked, leaning back.

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I'm not the guy they think I am. Yeah, I've made mistakes. But who hasn't? I just…" He trailed off, searching for the right words.

"You just want a fresh start," I finished for him.

Ali nodded, surprised at how easily I understood. "Exactly. But it's hard when people keep dragging you back to who you were."

I thought about that for a moment. "Maybe you don't need to prove anything to them. Just be yourself. If they don't get it, that's on them."

His eyes met mine, and for a second, it felt like he finally believed it was possible to leave his past behind. "You really don't care what people think, do you?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I've got enough on my plate without worrying about everyone else's opinions."

Ali chuckled, the sound light and genuine. "I could use more of that energy in my life."

"You'll get there," I said. "Just stop trying to convince people who don't want to see the real you."

For the next hour, we talked. It wasn't about anything deep—just random stuff like favorite foods, movies, and soccer teams. I learned Ali loved drawing and wanted to be an artist one day, even though no one knew about his sketches.

In turn, I shared how I liked writing stories but never showed them to anyone, fearing they wouldn't get it.

By the time the bell rang for the next class, it felt like I'd known Ali for years, not just an hour. As we stood to leave, he gave me a genuine smile.

"Thanks, Jayden," he said. "I didn't think I'd find someone to talk to here."

"Anytime," I replied. "Maybe next time, you can show me one of those sketches."

He grinned. "Maybe. And you better show me one of your stories."

We parted ways, and for the first time in a while, I felt like I'd made a real connection. Maybe high school wasn't so bad after all.