Broken Angel

Chapter 1

Isn't it strange how swiftly the days pass, how quickly we age, how rapidly people change, and how speedily a child born happy can become a depressed teenager? It's all so bewildering, isn't it? Sometimes we don't even have the time to ponder these things because everything moves too fast. Too fast for us to grasp what's happening, where we're headed, and how it's all unfolding. I suppose that's just the nature of living beings, the nature of Earth itself.

And when we speak of teenage life, most assume it's the best phase of life, but no, it isn't always. Sometimes, it's the worst part of life for some people. Having a good home, parents who provide everything, no need to worry about household chores—adults think teenagers in this kind of situation don't have problems, pain, or sadness. All they need to do is focus on their studies. But it's all nonsense.

Fifteen-year-old Abigail Smith sighed, looking at her scribbled notebook where she had poured out her thoughts. She closed the notebook and muttered to herself, "Why do people think we don't have problems?" She glanced around at her classmates, all wearing the same uniform, each lost in their own world during this free period for Class 9.

Boys were arguing over something, a few were sneaking bites of food even though there were 16 minutes left for the break. Abigail gaze drifted to the group of girls in the back row, deep in their own conversation . her gaze drifted to her two friends, Miya and Shira, who sat beside her. They were like bookends, with Miya in the middle and Shira on the other end. Despite being so close, they seemed miles away, engrossed in their own conversation. Miya gestured animatedly, her words punctuated by laughter, while Shira nodded along, her eyes fixed on Miya's face. Abigail watched them, feeling a pang of isolation as they continued their exchange without so much as a glance her way.

Abigail felt invisible. With a heavy heart, she walked out of the class and made her way to her favorite spot: a huge window in the corridor overlooking the playground and the school entrance. From there, she could see the entire school neighborhood, As she gazed out at the playground below, a cool breeze brushed against her face, carrying with it a sense of peace. For a moment, the chaos of the classroom faded into the background, replaced by the gentle rhythm of life unfolding before her.

But even in this moment of tranquility, Abigail couldn't shake the feeling of being invisible, of being adrift in a sea of faces. She wrapped her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together amidst the uncertainty, In that moment, Abigail felt a sense of detachment, as if she were an observer in her own life. She longed for connection, for understanding, but found herself drifting further away from the people around her.

"ABHIGAIL SMITH" Abigail Smith turned in a jolt as she heard her name. "Y...yes, Mrs. Willson," she stammered, her heart racing as she met the teacher's cold gaze.

"I guess you should be in your class, Abigail, not in the corridors staring at the window," Mrs. Willson said sternly, sending a chill down Abigail's spine.

Abigail sighed before replying, forcing a gentle smile. "Sorry, Mrs. Willson," she muttered, her shoulders slumping as she headed back to the suffocating classroom.

Sitting down at her desk, Abigail realized that Miya and Shira hadn't even noticed her short absence. She nodded to herself, trying to muster the courage to connect with them. With a hopeful heart, she wrapped her arms around Miya, only to be rejected as Miya unwrapped her arms forcefully.

"Give me a minute, Abigail. Can you move aside? We have a secret," Miya said, her tone dismissive.

Abigail sighed, feeling the sting of rejection as she moved back, trying hard not to let the tears fall. To everyone else if they noticed, it might seem like she was overreacting, but to her, it was a familiar pain she had experienced countless times before. No matter how much she changed friends, it always felt the same.

As a human being, she longed to be engaged in secrets, to be hugged by her friends, to feel wanted and loved. But it seemed like that kind of life was nothing more than a dream. She understood the need for privacy, but the longing for connection weighed heavily on her heart.

Drifting back into her own thoughts, Abigail pressed her head against the cold table, her heart feeling heavy as if it were being squeezed. Yet, she managed to hold back the tears, finding some relief in that small victory.

"I only wanted to feel loved and wanted, but why does it feel like it's only a dream? Is it too much to ask, God?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the noise of the classroom.