If We Exist

16.

I made a conscious decision to sit at a comfortable distance away from the group of Bommian. To be more precise, three benches away from them. Within reason in terms of politeness. Nothing that would have merited any suspicion.

There was little to do to kill time but to listen to their shouts and laughter. Their voices reverberated off the surrounding concrete. I put my hands in the pockets of my jacket and feigned a confidence I didn't feel.

Somewhere along the passing of time, I noticed that their conversation had turned into murmurs followed by long intervals of silence. I glanced over at them, and sure enough, I caught their collective gaze. Some sat on top the backrest of the bench, others squatted on the concrete. There was this one guy, seated properly on the bench who stared back at me with a hard-set expression. His face was illuminated a ghostly yellow by the strip lights. He didn't look so much threatening as he did attentive.

A cold release of relief washed over me when their conversation picked up again. I fiddled with the plastic wrapper of the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, just to have something to direct the surge of intimidation that arose in me. The heel of my foot tapped a light rhythm against the ground. I tried not to make it clear that their stares and their murmurs trodded on my jittery nerves.

I heard them say an expression in Brommin that I remembered. I made the mistake of looking back at them.

- Hey! Do you have a lighter? A guy with a hoody asked. They were all looking at me, waiting for a response. Those who the light illuminated their faces had a smirk drawn on their lips. My heart lurched in my chest.

I made it look like I was searching my pockets. I feigned that I came up empty-handed. I gave the guy a sympathetic shrug and turned my attention back to the ground before my feet.

In the best of circumstances, that's where our interaction would have ended, but I could sense that that wouldn't be the case. The platform was engulfed by a foreboding silence. A guy seated next to the guy with the hoody spoke up, - Hey, do you have a phone I could use?

He was older than the rest of them and had a guttural voice that was so raspy it sounded like he was speaking in Brommin. His question was met with snickers and friendly jabs. At first, the tense atmosphere seemed to have lifted, but then the guy who had asked the question stood up from the bench to stalk towards me. I had to force every muscle in my body against the instinct to tense up.

- Do you? I heard several more footsteps behind him but I couldn't say how many more of them had gotten up, his stocky frame blocked my view. He stopped a meter away and even then he towered over me. His hair was cut so short his scalp showed. His face was bumpy from aged acne scars; his smile, territorial.

It was then that I realised I wouldn't be heading home without encountering some kind of confrontation. I braced myself.

- Excuse me? I asked. I was too proper, too Arash. I realised that whatever I said, or didn't say at that moment, would have escalated the situation either way. The second he'd risen, I reasoned that it was better to pretend that I had misheard him and at least give him the chance to retract his intimidating steps.

He didn't take the hint. Instead, his smile widened. - Your phone, what model is it?

More snickers, this time much closer. The guys behind him spoke in Brommin. One of them, the guy that had been looking at me attentively before, came to stand next to the agressor. He looked younger. I had seen him in school and wondered fleetingly whether he was a senior.

- You're a freshman, aren't you? He asked. When I said nothing, he taunted, - What? You scared or something? You fucking—

- He's that count's son, someone in the back shouted.