3-From Shield to Shadow

The moment they saw her, they scattered and ran away.

She was going to be our homeroom teacher this year as well.

A wave of relief washed over me. She was one of the few adults who actually noticed things—not just homework and attendance, but bruises hidden under sleeves and the silence of kids who once laughed too much.

She walked over and gave me a brief glance, then turned to him.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

He didn’t respond. Just nodded slightly, eyes still locked on the ground.

She didn’t push further. Just placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and walked us both back to class.

We didn’t talk, not even a word, but something had shifted in that moment.

For the first time, I didn’t feel invisible.

And I had a feeling… he didn’t either.

Days passed. We didn’t become instant friends, but he stopped glaring at me like I was a stranger.

Sometimes he’d sit beside me during lunch, quietly.

Other times he’d wait for me before class, saying nothing, just standing there—like a silent shield.

Eventually, we began to talk. It started with short exchanges about crayons and cartoons, then books and birthdays.

By the time we reached primary school, we were inseparable.

He wasn’t the friendliest person, but with me, he was different—softer, even protective.

He stood up for me when others didn’t. And in return, I gave him the space to be himself.

But time has a way of changing people.

And middle school... has a way of showing you who they really are.

It started small. He’d laugh when others teased me, brushing it off like it meant nothing.

Then he stopped sitting with me during lunch.

Eventually, he joined the very group that once bullied both of us.

I remember the first time he called me a name—the same name those bullies used to hurl at me.

It didn’t even sound right coming from him.

But the laughter around him made it stick.

And just like that… my friend became my worst kind of bully—the one who knew all the soft spots.

I thought I’d get used to it.

I told myself it was just a phase. That maybe he was pretending. That maybe he still remembered.

But as time passed, it only hurt more.

It wasn’t just the teasing anymore—it was the way he looked right through me, like I never existed, like I had never mattered.

The worst part? He knew exactly where to hit where it would hurt the most.

By the end of middle school, I was exhausted. Tired of pretending.

Tired of waking up with a pit in my stomach.

So, I gathered the courage and asked my dad if I could continue my education somewhere else.

Anywhere. Just not there. Not around him. Not around them.

He looked at me for a long time, longer than usual. Maybe he saw it in my eyes this time—the weight I’d been carrying for years.

He didn’t ask too many questions.

Just nodded.

And just like that… I left.

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