The First Spark of Courage
After school ended, her best friend went home and immediately took out her phone.
She hesitated for a second — then typed:
“He asked about you today.”
The reply came almost instantly.
“Who?”
Her friend smiled softly and typed:
“That quiet boy… the one who always looks at you from far.”
There was a pause before the next message arrived.
“…Why would he ask about me?”
Her friend replied honestly:
“He looked worried. Really worried. He wanted to know why you weren’t coming.”
Another pause.
Then:
“What did you tell him?”
Her friend typed slowly:
“Everything.”
There was a long gap before the final message came.
“Okay… thank you.”
The conversation ended there, but the girl lay on her bed staring at her screen.
For the first time in days…
she felt a small warmth inside her chest.
Someone cared.
Someone noticed she was missing.
Someone who never spoke much…
spoke only for her.
---
Meanwhile, the boy reached home and walked straight to the bathroom.
He didn’t take his phone.
He didn’t talk to anyone.
He didn’t even switch on the light properly.
He turned on the shower and let the cold water hit his skin.
He stood there…
still as a statue…
eyes closed…
water running down his face.
His hands slowly curled into fists.
Her friend’s words replayed in his mind like a broken record:
“He threatened her.”
“She got scared.”
“She fell sick.”
“He cursed her.”
Every sentence stabbed deeper.
Every detail made his chest burn hotter.
He wasn’t angry for himself.
He was angry…
because someone hurt the girl he loved silently for years.
The water kept falling, but it didn’t cool the fire inside him.
He leaned on the wall, breathing heavily.
The muscles in his arms tightened.
His jaw clenched.
And for a moment — just a moment — the blue glow flickered in his eyes again, reflecting faintly in the wet tiles.
He stayed under the shower for a long time, letting his thoughts tear through him.
Why did she have to go through that alone?
Why did he — the bully — dare to threaten her?
Why did he make her afraid to come to school?
Why didn’t I protect her?
He opened his eyes, breathing hard.
Something in him had changed.
Not in a dramatic, superhero way.
Not in a cinematic way.
But in a real way —
a boy who was too shy, too silent, too gentle…
was starting to feel something stronger than fear.
He finally came out of the shower, dried quickly, and went straight to bed.
He didn’t talk to anyone the whole night.
---
The next morning, he walked into school with low expectations.
He told himself she wouldn’t come.
She was probably still scared… or sick… or avoiding the boy who hurt her.
He didn’t want to hope.
Hope only hurt more.
He entered the corridor quietly.
Students were chatting.
Teachers were walking.
Everything looked normal.
He sighed and lowered his eyes.
But then —
in the corner of his vision —
he saw someone walking toward her class.
He stopped breathing for a second.
It was her.
She came.
Her hair tied loosely…
a soft tiredness in her eyes…
but she was here.
She stood near her friends, talking softly.
Her smile was small, but real.
And for the first time in days…
she didn’t look scared.
He watched her from a distance, frozen.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t breathe.
His heart did something strange —
not racing, not hurting —
just warming, slowly, deeply.
She was back.
And something inside him whispered:
Maybe today… something will change.
