"Guess genius doesn't run on trauma."
The words echoed like a curse that refused to fade.
Eli had heard worse before. From Aaron. From his mother. From the world in whispers and looks.
But for some reason, this one cut differently.
He wasn't sure if it was the way Aaron said it — like a joke wrapped in poison — or the timing, right after his test failure. But the words rooted themselves inside him like thorns. He lay on his bed that night, staring at the ceiling as those seven words circled like vultures in his head.
Guess genius doesn't run on trauma.
He hated how it stuck.
He hated that it might be true.
The next morning, Eli didn't get up with his usual slowness.
He sat up, and instead of reaching for his hoodie and disappearing into the day, he reached for his journal — the one he hadn't touched since before the test.
Entry #51
"He said genius doesn't run on trauma. Maybe he's right. But what if pain isn't the thing that ends me — what if it's the thing that wakes me up?"
"I've been letting every wound define me. Every insult. Every cold glance. Every time mom acted like I didn't exist. I wrote it all down, but I never wrote back."
"This time, I will."
In class, Eli didn't speak. He never really did. But there was something different in his silence — like his quiet had edges now.
He paid attention.
He took notes.
Not for grades.
For himself.
For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was reclaiming something — even if no one noticed.
After lectures, he found a corner in the campus library — a forgotten nook near the window where no one sat. He opened his laptop, pulled out old assignments, pulled up new ones, and began reviewing what he'd lost grip of.
He wasn't trying to prove Aaron wrong.
He was trying to prove himself right.
That trauma didn't cancel genius.
It just tried to bury it.
He didn't speak to Mia that day, but he saw her in the courtyard. She caught his eyes for a second, like she was expecting him to ignore her again.
Instead, he gave her a nod.
A small one.
But it was something.
That night at home, Aaron didn't speak to him either.
But Eli didn't care. He walked into the kitchen, made himself dinner, cleaned up after himself, and walked upstairs.
His mother watched him with a puzzled expression — like she was noticing him for the first time in weeks.
She didn't speak.
She just watched.
And for once, Eli didn't need her words.
Later, he sat at his desk, looking at the mirror again.
He looked tired, yes. But he looked there.
Not invisible.
Not fading.
Present.
Phone Note – Entry #52
"People think broken things are useless. But I've been broken long enough to learn how to rebuild without permission."
"Let them say what they want. Let them laugh. I'm not trying to be the version of me they once admired. I'm trying to become the one they can't destroy."
Notable Quotes:
"Maybe pain isn't my enemy — maybe it's the training ground."
"Genius doesn't run on trauma. But sometimes, it runs through it."
"I've been letting wounds speak louder than my will. That ends now."