Strings of Fate: The First Loop

CHAPTER 58 - LINE WITHOUT A HOOK

Mr. Oxford glanced at his notes. “You all survived high school. Which, statistically speaking, is more impressive than surviving a shark attack.”

Drake whispered, “Is that true?”
Corey whispered back, “He made it up. Just go with it.”

“You’ve faced tests, heartbreaks, deadlines, group projects, and the heartbreak of group projects.”

Laughter again. The kind that felt like letting go.

“And now you're heading into a world that doesn't come with rubrics or quarterly grades. It comes with vague expectations, missed calls, and learning how to cook rice without a rice cooker.”

He paused. Then added solemnly, “Which most of you still can’t do.”

Drake raised both hands in surrender.

I smiled, despite myself.

Mr. Oxford squinted. “One last thing. When life gives you lemons…” He paused, let it linger. “Ask if it comes with sinigang.”

Silence. Dead silence. The sound of the wind was louder than the joke.

James snorted. Corey groaned. Tim whispered, “Abort.”

Mr. Oxford blinked. “Tough crowd.”

And then, in the softest tone I’d ever heard him use, he said, “Just… don’t forget who you are. Not the version they made you think defined yoy, but the quiet one that stares out the window when no one’s watching. Take care of that person. That version of you? That’s the one worth fighting for.”

A long silence. Then a quiet cheer. A clink of glasses. Inez raised hers and Tim followed. I stared at my glass, the slice of lemon floating in the amber liquid like a sunken moon.

And then, just as the applause began to die down, the microphone crackled again.

James stood up. My spine straightened before I could stop it.

He walked up to the small wooden platform, brushing his hand through his hair like he always did when he was nervous.

“I, uh,” he said into the mic. “I asked if I could sing something. Just one song.”

A few people clapped. Drake whooped. Someone muttered “Let’s gooo.”

But all I could hear was the pulse behind my ears. He picked up a black guitar from the back of the stage.

Then James stepped forward, fingers trembling slightly as they found the strings of his guitar.

And when his voice broke the hush, something inside me cracked with it.

"I don't really give a damn about the way you touch me, When we're alone, You can hold my hand, If no one's home..."

The first time I saw him...
It was just an ordinary hallway. Cold tiles, the distant shriek of a late bell, the scent of chalk and sweat and teenage nerves.
But his eyes, his eyes weren’t ordinary. They held this strange, aching familiarity.
Like the universe had whispered his name to my soul long before my heart knew how to say it.

"Do you like it when I'm away?
If I went and hurt my body, baby
Would you love me the same?"

I thought of the day Mrs. Pamela called me into her office. James was already there, shoulders caved in, like his body was folding in on itself. A wounded dog. All sharp silence and stifled breath. I was hurting too. But that day, I felt braver than usual. Brave enough to care. Brave enough to hold someone else's sadness even when mine was leaking at the seams. Maybe that’s what connection really is. Not healing each other, just being brave enough to hurt side by side.