CHAPTER 6: GUILT

Crazy, isn't it? How did Miaro end up like this?

She's stuck in her room, unable to face the outside world. She's not on any social media. Her phone, turned off, lies somewhere in a drawer she no longer dares to open. Every notification, every missed call feels like a threat, a cruel reminder of her recklessness.

She tries to explain her action, to convince herself there was some logic behind the lie, that it was all just a misunderstanding, a youthful mistake. But those words ring hollow. She tries to comfort herself, to rationalize, to forget.

But how can she stay stoic when shame is choking her with every breath?

She is ashamed of her foolishness, of that ridiculous impulse that started it all. She is ashamed of her recklessness, of having played with feelings she might have never truly understood. She is ashamed of her image, of what others think of her, of what they say behind her back, of what he might think.

But more than anything, she is ashamed of herself. So ashamed that she doesn't even dare go downstairs to have dinner with her mother. Christmas and New Year's pass like shadows—celebrations she doesn't deserve.

The trip to Quebec was supposed to be a joyful break. A moment to breathe, to get away from the painful memories left behind in Madagascar. But nothing helps. The biting cold of the streets of Montreal, the snow blanketing the sidewalks in immaculate white, the twinkling lights wrapped around the lampposts... all of it feels unreal. As if she doesn't belong in this world.

Her brother, on the other hand, is over the moon. Despite the classes and exams awaiting him after the holidays, he's using these few days to unwind. His small student apartment is cramped, but his roommates have decorated it with care: a string of lights runs along the walls, and a little Christmas tree stands proudly on the living room table, adorned with red and gold ornaments. The family gathers around a festive meal. They exchange gifts, laugh out loud while watching an old Christmas movie on TV—just like those northern friends of his. Consumer society.

Her brother tells stories from his classes, his struggles with his roommates, the sleepless nights spent studying. But Miaro remains withdrawn. Sitting near the window, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands, she watches the snow fall in silence. She should feel happy, grateful to be here, surrounded by her loved ones. Yet she feels as if she's somewhere else, as if she doesn't deserve this warmth. Her shame is an invisible weight, a suffocating presence that keeps her from blending into the surrounding joy. She avoids family photos, escapes animated conversations, and uses a headache as an excuse to retreat to her room. Even under the magical lights of Christmas, even in the heart of this vibrant city, she remains a prisoner of a past she cannot erase.

One day, while accompanying her brother to the supermarket, he slips in a few words as he's placing items in the cart. Simple words, almost trivial. But they hit her harder than any reproach could.

—"You don't seem yourself, sis. Still sad about your defeat in Tekken?"

—"Keep dreaming. You just got lucky with that last combo."

—"Haha… But seriously, mom told me you've been like this in Madagascar too, maybe even worse. You hide because of dad, but your depression can be felt from miles away."

—"That's ridiculous…"

—"What, I'm ridiculous?"

—"No, it's me. The thing that's bringing me down is so ridiculous I don't even have the strength to talk about it."

—"Ah, I see. (Smiling) You know, your problem is that you let others dictate your behavior too much. You don't have to be perfect for anyone. As for me, I regret that my school years have been nothing but nineteen, eighteen, four-point-one, A, A+, and so on… I'll finish my doctorate at twenty-three and then what? Maybe just twenty-three wasted years."

Miaro finally laughs.

—"… Wait, what are you even telling me right now?"

—"I… I'm talking about myself. About my sadness. About…"

—"Stop, that's ridiculous. I don't know anyone prouder than you," she says while heading toward the car.

Then her brother yells:

—"So I'm not allowed to be sad too?"

But Miaro just smiles.

Back to school is on January sixth. But Miaro wasn't there on Monday. Nor on Tuesday. Nor Wednesday. She finally decides to return on Thursday. She walks through the main gate with a detached look, but everything about her betrays her discomfort. Her complexion is pale, almost waxy, as if she hadn't seen the sun in days. A pair of dark sunglasses hides the expression in her eyes, but no one is fooled. Everyone knows why. Most likely, she hasn't slept. Not a full night in a long time.

At the entrance, it's still manageable. People look at her, judge her in silence, but at least no one says anything. The atmosphere is heavy, but bearable.

In class, it's a different story.

The whispers start the moment she walks through the door. Hushed voices, glances exchanged, smirks. Some pretend to ignore her, others stare openly. She hasn't even set down her bag yet, and already the air is suffocating.

It's complicated. Very complicated.

She feels every gaze weighing on her, every silence louder than the half-whispered conversations. Even those who don't speak seem to be saying something. She feels like a stranger in a place that once felt like hers. She sits down, fixes her eyes on her desk, avoids meeting anyone's gaze. But it's pointless. She's already the center of attention, whether she wants it or not.

Rumors about a celebrity like Miaro spread at the speed of light at school. Three days after the return to classes, the whole school already knows. And how could it be otherwise? Those fueling these rumors aren't just anyone. They are key figures in the school, influencers within the school's microcosm. Without wanting to point fingers at Hantsa and Rija, it's clear that their mere mention is enough to give the matter some weight.

Everywhere Miaro goes, she feels the whispers slither behind her like an invisible poison: "Who is this Haintso?", "Look at Miaro, she's fooling herself," "I can't believe it…"

The words are just fragments, but their impact is complete. She hears them, senses them, feels them down to her skin. Every look at her seems like a silent judgment, every smile a mocking grimace. The pressure builds. She tries to hold her composure, to feign indifference, but her body betrays her. Her posture becomes stiffer, her movements more measured, and her breath more shallow.

No one will come to her aid this time.

Tsiaro, her friend, is there. But she remains silent. Though she's the only one who knows which Haintso they're talking about, she says nothing. Perhaps out of loyalty, perhaps out of caution. Or maybe because this story is simply too unbelievable, even for her.

Miaro is alone in the face of the storm. And she knows it.

Sooner or later, the identity of Haintso, which he has been trying so hard to conceal, will be revealed. This quiet life he's built, this feigned nonchalance hidden from prying eyes, all of it is at risk of collapsing. He must have more than valid reasons to hide. And Miaro… Miaro has destroyed it all to nothing. And all of this because she is sorely lacking in maturity.

"I know I don't deserve any forgiveness. But at least… I need to apologize. I need to face him."

She repeats this to herself like a mantra, like a litany to keep herself from faltering. Her heart beats so loudly that she thinks it's going to explode. So she doesn't wait. She clings so tightly to the little courage she had, literally, in her two feet. She stands up, but her legs refuse to move. Her whole body protests: "No, don't do this. Don't move. Go back to your blankets. Forget." But she can't forget. So she forces herself… One step. Then another.

She awkwardly descends the stairs, from second eleven to second eight. Before, that class was just an ordinary destination. A regular descent. A mere formality. Today, it's a torment. Thirty steps. Thirty endless steps.

She feels like every step is burning her, that every stair is crumbling beneath her. Her breath is shallow. Her hands are sweaty. Her heart beats so hard it shakes her chest. But she finally reaches second eight. The whispers rise like a wave as she enters. A sneaky tide that rises, that overwhelms her: "It's her." "Look at her..." "What can we expect?"

The gazes are like invisible blades that slice her skin. Her face is on fire. She wants to disappear. But she is finally there.

... She's there.

Haintso is there.

She sees him. That's something.

But at that moment, she wonders if it's not worse. Because he is calm. Because he is silent. Because he looks at her without saying anything. She doesn't know how to approach him. She doesn't even know if she still has the right to say his name. Haintso, on the other hand, is staring at her. He wasn't expecting this. He's not angry. Not really. Maybe he even expected it, deep down. But it doesn't change anything. He has no reason to be happy to see her either.

And yet... he smiles.

Again.

Because Haintso, when he's lost... he smiles. He smiles because he feels Miaro's discomfort. He has every reason not to help her. But he will help her because that's just who he is. His nature is loyal, faithful, no matter the circumstances. As long as he sees someone trying, he's already flexible. It confuses him too, and confusion makes him smile. A mysterious smile. An unreadable smile. A smile that catches her off guard. And that simple, ridiculous smile is enough to crack the wall of anxiety and guilt that was crushing Miaro. He plays the role of an accomplice... once again.

Kanto, Tsiaro, and the students who were present were completely shaken by the situation. "So the rumor is true?" "Wait, I don't know any Haintso except this one here, but still... this one? Seriously?" "Seriously?" "It's true that Miaro comes here often, but they don't even talk. Not once." ...

Haintso and Miaro find a quiet spot, behind the second-eight classroom. The second-eight classroom is located at the far end of the school. It's quite a discreet place, especially since there's a peaceful garden next to it. Few students hang out here even during recess. It's a fairly isolated corner. But since Miaro was there, the students don't hesitate to watch their interaction. Haintso stares at his students. And Miaro, who is staring at Haintso, doesn't like it. So, she begins, her voice trembling:

—"I… I… honestly, I'm speechless about what's going on right now. I didn't know what came over me when I told that, and... "

But Haintso doesn't stop staring at her, his gaze intensifying. He is surprisingly calm. He doesn't say anything. He remains silent. And Miaro is scared of this reaction, so she continues, more determined:

—"I know what I have to do. It's wrong to lie. I'm going to tell everyone the truth. I... (She stops suddenly, looking around. But even though she trembles, she resumes.) I can't impose my problems on you. "

But Haintso has already found the answer to these questions. He never takes too long to understand things. So, he resumes the conversation in a very calm and composed tone:

—"Everyone gets self-conscious about their imperfections. Your friends, for example, are insecure about your beauty and your academic achievements. They can't talk to you about those areas without hurting themselves, so they focus on their love lives, social trends, and fashion. "

Haintso slowly shifts his gaze toward Miaro, piercing her as deeply as possible, as if asking her what she truly wants deep down in this situation. And Miaro feels such a deep connection between their two souls that tears begin to well up in her eyes. With a trembling voice, she says:

—"I don't want to be embarrassed. I... can't accept being a clown who entertains others' lives. "

She cries in front of everyone, her shoulders shaking. All the students observing the scene are lost. It's true, Miaro crying like this when she has everything to be happy... Yes, but the biggest question is, "Why him?" And then the "Who is he again?" questions don't stop… it's all confusing.

But Haintso takes her in his arms. He doesn't say anything. He just feels that he has to do it, so he does. This greatly reinforces the idea that they're together. But it's still hard to swallow. It's superfluous.

In Haintso's arms, Miaro asks him one thing, pleading, her voice choked with sobs:

—"I might be asking too much, but please... "

—"Don't worry. I don't know if you can call me a good person, but I understand you, and I want to help you. "

Miaro lets herself relax against Haintso, overwhelmed by the weight of her emotions. The warmth of his frail body, as fragile as it is unshakable, soothes her gently. His hesitant, awkward, but sincere hands try to cover her, to protect her. Yet, with their similar heights, it is she who seems more imposing, more tangible, as if, despite everything, he is the lighter, more fleeting one.

But without forgetting the softness of his words, he is simply the peace she is searching for.

Rija finally sees him... This guy. This ghost who slips between the shadows. The one who plays with the fate of others like an invisible puppeteer. This so-called Haintso. In his eyes, he's nothing more than an insignificant insect, a miserable thing he could crush under his foot without a second thought. So why? Why does he still see that burning passion on Miaro's face?

She was right. When she's in his arms, the world fades away. A storm could ravage the school, a war could break out, and yet she wouldn't even raise her eyes. Nothing matters anymore. Not the rumors, not the looks, not even the obvious fact that all of this is an illusion. Miaro isn't looking for the truth. She clings to this moment like a shipwrecked person to a lifeboat, no matter if it's deflated. It's a moment stolen from reality, a fragile peace, a fake happiness. Even if it's a lie, as long as it lasts forever. Because in that moment, she is free.

To go from Ampefiloha to Ampefiloha Ambodirano, one must pass through Andavamamba and then 67ha. Haintso knows this route by heart. He follows it without thinking, like an old melody that one hums absentmindedly. But tonight, something indefinable disrupts the rhythm.

The night stretches over the city, enveloping it in a veil of silent shadows. Haintso walks, with a calm, almost mechanical pace. His hands shoved into his pockets, his back slightly hunched, he moves forward as if following a path he doesn't truly see.

The neon lights cast harsh flashes of light on his face, sculpting shadows under his tired eyes. His gaze is fixed, hard, but he is not contemplating anything. He moves through the city like a specter, absent, lost somewhere between his thoughts and the wet asphalt that reflects the gleams of the road.

He is unaware of the sound of engines, the hurried steps of the night dwellers, or the distant conversations. Everything slides past him without touching him. Yet, a new tension fills him. It is no longer just the cold indifference that usually accompanies him. There is something else, a dull energy pulsing in his veins, a thought he pushes away but cannot shake off.

He keeps walking, alone in a city that doesn't see him, and tonight, perhaps, wouldn't even recognize him.