when he had uttered those few words with a grin on his face, his mind was rather thinking quite something else. it wasn't that you were a mystery, an anomaly. rather, you were either just like him or the complete opposite.
ouch. that brought back memories he didn't want to remember.
"mother! look, I got 3 stars on my essay!" a young boy held up his paper proudly, showing it to his mother as if it were a prize. his mother simply nodded, taking it from him and pinning it to the refrigerator, only to be never stared at again. he simply didn't understand. the other kids would get hugs from their parents even if they failed. so why, when he was the model student every parent loved and adored, did his mother pay no attention to him at all?
that day, he had cried his heart out, in hopes that his mother would take pity on him and hug him like he had always wished. in fact, all that happened was that his mother simply asked if he was okay, and when he didn't respond, his mother just turned around and left. that was when the cold, hard truth hit him that no matter how good his grades were, how well he behaved, or how he felt, his mother wouldn't even bat an eye at it.
so he stopped trying. his essays no longer got stars, and it was a common occurrence for his name to be mentioned in the staffroom. "that kid, scaramouche. what happened to him?"
he found no reason to try, his grades for nobody to see. and even as he had matured into a nineteen-year-old, his mind never had left those words he had heard. what truly, had happened to that young boy?
"scaramouche! scaramouche?" now, when his name was called, it was associated with scolding him. it's fine. he had learnt how not to cry, to bite his inner cheek to prevent the tears from falling. instinctively, he bit his inner cheek-
"scaradouche?" a sigh escaped you, as you shook his shoulders gently. "gosh, i came here to study, not to be distracted by you. what's gotten into you? you were spacing out," you express your concern, looking expectantly at him.
the insulting name was surprisingly comforting now. knowing that that name didn't come with scolding or punishments. he simply chuckled, his gaze meeting yours. how ironic, that he found comfort in an insult.
"you're weird, you know? laughing at an insult," you groan. he smiled cheekily, giving you that lopsided grin of his. "i'd rather be weird than be vice-head prefect, honestly. it's so restricting," he commented. "i'd rather be vice-head prefect than be you," you reply curtly.
you both were lying, in a way. he wanted to be vice-head prefect, because in a way he still had that tiny glimmer of hope in him that being perfect like you would make his mother proud of him. yet you wanted to be him, to be so free, to be able to express your emotions and thoughts in any way you wanted.
the grass is greener on the other side, they say. you both were wrong about each other, in some way.
how cruel fate was, giving you both that false illusion that the other was better.
it would be your true tragedy, yet be your remedy as well.
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JUST MY TYPE
قصص المراهقينwhat happens when a certain troublemaker approaches the vice head prefect of a school, with the intention of stealing her heart? and even more so, what trouble will stir when a ginger-haired boy and a sister are added to the equation? "you're utter...
