It has been a strange day. Eighth grade began, and the very first thing that happened inside the school building was a fight between Cleon and Mikhael. To be precise, Cleon was making fun of me, and Mikhael rushed in, slamming straight into him. The teachers saw everything.

I don’t know what happened after that. I didn’t see Mikhael again. Not until he rang the bell of our apartment, his chest heaving like he had run all the way here, still wearing the crumpled uniform of Heritage Middle School.

Dad went out to buy clothes for him, and mom stayed home with us. He didn’t say a single word the entire evening. When mom asked if she should call his mother, he shrank into himself, like he wanted to disappear. Mom didn’t push. Instead, she called me aside and asked if I would be alright sharing my bed with him. I nodded.

I was excited. A sleepover with Mikhael felt special but when I told him, he smiled, and the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

After mom tucked us in and turned off the lights, Mikhael asked if he could hold my hand. I didn’t think much about it and let him. His fingers wrapped around mine, and he exhaled with a smile. I watched his face as he slept and wondered what really happened after he was called away at school. Were his parents angry with him? Is that why he is so quiet? What is your life like, Mikhael? Why do you never talk about yourself?

I am lost in those thoughts when I hear a sob. That is when I see it. Mikhael is crying in his sleep, holding my hand tighter, his lips trembling as he mumbles, “M-mama…”

“Mikhael?” I whisper, pushing him gently back and forth with my free hand, but he doesn’t wake up. His sobs grow heavier, tears sliding down his cheeks, and it feels like all the air leaves my lungs just by looking at him.

What should I do? What—Mom, Dad! They will know what to do!

I struggle to pull my hand free from his grip, and when I finally do, I rush down the hallway and burst into my parents’ room. They are just about to settle in for the night when I shout, “Mom! Dad! Something is wrong with M-Mikhael. He is crying and shivering in his sleep!!”

Mom doesn’t hesitate. She is out of bed in an instant, and Dad and I follow her back to my room. She turns on the light and pulls Mikhael’s head gently into her lap, rubbing circles on his back. Dad sits beside her, and I curl up close, resting my head on his lap.

“Dear, what’s wrong?” Mom asks as she wipes the tears from Mikhael’s face, “Talk to me.”

Mikhael keeps crying, his words spilling out even though he is still asleep, “M-mama…she is hitting me. It hurts, mama…please stop…”

“It’s alright, Mikhael,” Mom murmurs, brushing his hair back, “No one is hurting you. You are safe here.”

Slowly, his breathing steadies, and his cries fade into hiccups. Mom leans her head against Dad’s shoulder, and Dad wraps an arm around her. They both look worried in a way that feels like they know something I don’t.

I take Mikhael’s free hand and hold it. He grips mine tightly without waking up. I don’t know why he is crying or what happened to him. I don’t understand the things he carries inside him. But I know one thing. In books and fairy tales, a princess always has a knight who protects her.

I will be his knight. I will protect him and stay by his side, no matter what.

⭒˚‧︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵‧˚⭒

“I am sorry, Mikhael,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “I am sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

My final year...his final year...our final year of high school should never have come to this. It should have never started with him hospitalized and me setting aside my beliefs, praying in this church so that he can be saved.