I had become numb to most faces.
Boys laughed, some feared me. Teachers scolded or pitied me. And girls—I didn't care to notice them. I refused to. In my mind, they all carried the face of betrayal. They were my father's weakness. They were the reason my family broke.
But even then… even in all my denial, she stood out.
Kenanga.
She was quiet, but not invisible. Polite, but not timid. There was something dignified in the way she moved—like the world didn't shake her, even when it tried. She wore a white ribbon in her hair, the same one every day, and always sat near the window with her books pressed close to her chest.
I caught her eyes a few times.
They weren't mocking. They weren't full of pity.
They were... curious.
Gentle.
And that bothered me more than any insult ever did.
I wanted to look away every time she smiled. I wanted to hate her, because hatred kept me safe. But I couldn't. There was something in her presence that reminded me I hadn't fully turned into stone. That somewhere inside me, something still responded to kindness.
But I hated that, too.
Because I had made a vow—to never let any woman into my world again.
I clenched my jaw, pushing those thoughts down.
Still, Kenanga's gaze lingered… like sunlight stubbornly seeping through the cracks of a closed door.
I didn't know what she saw in me.
But I knew this: I wasn't ready to be seen.
"The heart hardens to survive. But sometimes, all it takes is a glance to remind it how to feel again."