By the time I finally look up, class has already ended. The sky outside the window has turned blue with hints of pink bleeding through the clouds. The classroom is empty now.

Everyone else has already left, including my friends, eager to escape studying and spend the rest of the day together. We had planned to get ice cream since Vanora’s mom was picking us up and insisted on treating all of us.

I push my chair back and sling my bag over my shoulder, heading toward the door, when a groan reaches my ears. I stop and glance back.

Mikhael is still seated at his desk, hunched over his notebook, his brows drawn together in concentration. He doesn’t even notice me watching him. Curiosity tugs at me, and before I can stop myself, I walk over.

I lean slightly to peek at his notebook. It is an algebra problem from today’s class. An easy one, but tricky if you rush it.

“Just move the numbers to one side and the letters to the other,” I say, “It gets easier that way.”

He pauses, pen hovering over the page, then follows what I said. A second later, the answer appears. His shoulders relax, and he turns around, eyes bright with relief then he sees me. The tips of his ears and his cheeks turn red instantly.

“I…thank you,” he says.

I think he said something else, but my attention drifts to the thin scratch blooming on his cheek. So it really was not nothing.

“I am sorry if helping me was too much but…” he starts, then stops when I hold out a small bandage. He stares at it, confused, then at me. I tap my own cheek.

“You have a scratch there. You should put the bandage on it. It will hurt less.”

He raises his hand to his face like he is afraid of it, “Nobody gave it to me,” he says quickly, “I just…tried to rescue a cat, and it wasn’t very happy about it.”

“I never said anything,” I reply, “I just want you to take care of yourself.”

He nods, carefully placing the bandage into his bag. We stand there in an awkward silence as he packs his notebook and stands up. When he does, I notice the difference in our heights properly. I am average, but he is tall. Taller than everyone in our class. Still, he keeps his shoulders slightly hunched, like he is trying to shrink himself.

“Umm…are you not meeting your friends?” he asks.

“Do you want to have ice cream with us?” I blurt out before I can overthink it.

“What?”

“I know it sounds weird,” I rush on, “We have never really talked before, and you probably think I am strange for asking, but my friends are nice and you always seem so quiet. It might be fun to spend time with others.”

He looks startled, then thoughtful.

“I really appreciate it,” he says after a moment, “But I have swim practice.”

“You joined a club already?” I ask, surprised.

He nods, smiling shyly, “Thank you for the offer.”

We walk together down the stairs, and once we reach the ground floor, he turns and jogs toward the natatorium on the left. Even as he leaves, there is a smile etched on his face.

I head toward the entrance where my friends are waiting. They look half bored, like they have been waiting forever. Vanora’s mom stands beside them.

“Hello, Aunty,” I say with a smile, “Thank you for the treat today.”

She laughs and squeezes my cheeks, “Every time I see you, Layla, you remind me of your mother.”

I laugh, and together, we all start walking toward the nearest ice cream vendor.