Day 1

"Ion represents the idea that a person cannot change their condition. He wants to leave his condition as a poor peasant but fails," says the child standing up. I had been half asleep the entire Romanian class, but these words caught my attention for some reason. Is it really impossible to change your fate? I suppose so; the word 'fate' itself implies something predestined. Now that I think about it, they might be synonyms. Not that I'd know; it's not the first Romanian class where my eyes drift shut. A small laugh escapes me—I really should stop laughing at my own jokes, at least if they were good.

"Alex, it seems you found something amusing in what your classmate expressed. Would you care to share what exactly made you laugh?" the Romanian teacher says, slightly indignant.

This man hears so much with such small ears. I choose to remain silent and bow my head. This is a situation where I think it's the best strategy. I couldn't admit in front of the class that I was laughing at my own joke. The teacher, satisfied with my 'submission,' signals to my classmate to continue. I go back to daydreaming. I even forgot what I was thinking about.

The bell wakes me up as if from the dead some time later. I rub my eyes lightly and look around—the same classroom I know too well. I'm slightly disappointed I didn't wake up in bed, though. I study at a high school in a rather small town, so insignificant that probably many in this school wouldn't be able to point it out on a map. We had higher hopes when it came to my education, but I was, and probably will continue to be, a lazy person. When the national evaluation came, I reached my academic peak: 6.30 in math and 7.20 in Romanian. To be honest, if I had scored higher, I'd accuse myself of cheating. I get up from my desk and appreciate the slightly communist decor; on the front wall, you can still see the mark left by Ceausescu's icon that once watched over the class. It's unbearably hot. I nod to a boy in the desk behind me and step out into the hallway. I don't wait long before he appears too.

"So, what were you giggling at in class? You funny guy, you," says the boy.

"Oh, you know, just laughing at your dumb face, you dumbass."

"Alright, but do you have a cigarette?"

"You've asked me the same thing for a whole year; how much longer will it take you to realize I don't smoke?"

"Well, I thought maybe you started in the meantime."

"You mean from yesterday to today?"

"Time can be short too."

"Like your life, Marian, if you keep this up. Isn't stuffing your face enough? Do you need to feel it in your nose too?"

"My lungs, my business."

"Leave me alone, brother. If the guys from the black ambulance catch you, they'll get scared of your lungs, sew you back up, apologize, and give you money for ice cream."

"They're so stupid I'd use that money to buy cigarettes," says Marian, smiling.

I burst out laughing briefly, and Marian soon follows. Two fools laughing. When you see us, you wonder whether to laugh at us or with us. After a few seconds, we stop.

"So, how's it going with Antonia?" asks Marian.

"All I can say is it's not standing still, not that it's any of your business, you know?"

Antonia is the only person in this school I think ended up here by mistake. In this sea of idiots, of which I am a part, Antonia stands out like a rock. She's the type who does her homework when she gets back from school, but I still couldn't call her a nerd. I ended up accidentally paired with her for a project. We're in the same year but in different classes. Our school had some recycling project, and teams of two were randomly selected, even if we weren't from the same class. I didn't know anything about her, but I felt a connection during the project and kept in touch. It's been two months since then. It's one of those situations where I convince myself she likes me too, only for something to tell me I'm wrong.

"It's clear you two have something going on," says Marian.

"I don't know if I should believe you," I say, practically looking through him.

"Yeah."

An uncomfortable silence sets in. I don't know why; usually, we can have conversations as useless as this one for hours. I can't stand the silence and say:

"Anything else interesting?"

"I wish. It feels like nothing happens in this town, like time stands still."

I understand him very well. Every day seems to blend into the next. If it weren't for needing to bring the right books to school, I'd probably have forgotten what day it is long ago. Still, I like how monotonous everything is; it gives me a sense of security. I feel in control as long as everything is predictable.

"There's not much you can do," I say dryly. "I've got some stuff to do."

Marian doesn't say anything but gives me a smile that tells me he knows what 'stuff' I'm referring to, then he goes back to class. I continue down the hall and stop in front of a door three meters away. I open my phone and write a message:

"Can you come out into the hallway?"

"In a minute."

I wait for a while until the door opens. Antonia steps out.

"Morning," she says.

"Morning," I reply.

"How was the first class?" she asks.

"No idea."

"What do you mean? Weren't you there?"

"Yeah, but my mind was elsewhere."

"Aha." I hadn't noticed when she came out, but now that I look closer, Antonia's face looks slightly discolored, with a small bruised area on her forehead, almost invisible. It doesn't seem too serious; maybe she bumped her head on something. I don't even know if I should ask.

"Hey, did you bump your head recently?" I finally ask.

"I don't think so, why?"

"Oh, nothing. I think it's just bad lighting here. Anyway, how was your class?" I ask, trying to change the subject.

"We had art, but the teacher was on the phone the whole time, and the others were playing cards in the back."

"Did you join in?"

"Oh no, I don't even know how to play."

"What were they playing?"

"No idea, but definitely not War; I know how to play that."

"I know a few games. If you want, I can teach you one day," I say, seeing an opportunity.

"Maybe, we'll see. Did you guys take the history test?" she asks, almost ignoring what I said.

A bit discouraged that my attempt at setting up a meeting failed, I reply monotonously:

"Yeah, do you want a photo? I only have the first row."

"If you don't want to give it to me, it's okay."

"Why do you think I don't want to?"

"It seemed like you got a bit annoyed when I asked."

Apparently, I'm more expressive than I knew, and than I wanted to be. Still, I reply:

"I just remembered something, it has nothing to do with you. Do you want the photo or not?" I ask.

"Send it," she replies.

The sound of her phone notification is quickly replaced by the bell.

"Oh, well, see you," she says.

"Yeah, see you," I say as I walk away.

I feel a certain awkwardness in our conversations, an air that makes me choose my words very carefully before speaking. I don't even know what I could talk about, so this is probably the only break I'll talk to her. My relationship with her is like an impenetrable wall. I have the courage to ask her to talk, but I sense we won't interact the rest of the day. This conversation during the first break is somehow a comfort zone that I don't have the courage to push.

The rest of the school day proceeded as expected, my prediction was correct, I haven’t talked to Antonia since morning. I head home. I live with my father, my mom passed away when I was around 5 years old, she died from a heart attack. It was very sudden, we didn’t know of any health complications before. I remember it still, I don’t know why but the days prior to her death I saw some weird symptoms on her, the skin around her lips and fingertips was somewhat gray, even a bit blueish . It was evident but no one else noticed it, I kept telling them but even mom didn’t see any changes on her skin. It was very strange. My dad fell into a deep depression, he is better now, I couldn’t be thankful enough for him.

I get off from the bus and I make my way to the commie block apartment. I enter the house, no one is inside, as to be expected my father works the day shift most of the time, I only see him in the mornings. The apartment is kinda small but since there are only two people living in it it’s more than enough. I make my way to my room and sit on the bed, looking at the ceiling above as I drive off to sleep.

My nap is disturbed by my phone, it’s Marian, who else could it be. My eyes still adapting to the light see that I’ve been sleeping for 2 hours, I pick up the phone:

“Yes?”

“Hi man, how are you doing?” asks Marian.

“I was relaxing, what’s up?” I reply.

“Wanna hang out?”

“Where?” I ask while trying to keep in a yawn.

“Around town, maybe Antonia might come too”

“Since when did you start talking to her?”

“Well I was planning to hang out with her deskmate Rebeca, and she asked if Antonia could come along, and I had a feeling you might wanna come as well” Marian answers.

“Well, I guess I might come see what’s up.” I say trying not to appear too excited.

“Nice, in about an hour in the city square, are you cool with that?”

“It’s ok”

“Ok man , see you there.” he says, hanging up in the next second.

An hour passes and I am at the front door. I take a moment to check myself in the mirror, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. It's not every day I get to hang out with Antonia outside of school. I make my way out and start heading to the city square, my mind racing with thoughts of what to say, how to act. The streets are quiet, the air cool with the approaching evening. It doesn't take me much to arrive at the square, where I see them: Marian, Rebeca, and Antonia. They're standing in a loose circle, chatting and laughing. Antonia's back is to me, and I take a deep breath before walking over, trying to push down the nervous flutter in my stomach.

“Hi!” I greet, my voice shaky.

“Look who it is.” Marian says with a grin, extending his hand for a shake.

Antonia slowly turns around to face me. My heart drops, and a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. For a split second, it feels like the world goes silent—except for the deafening thud of my pulse in my ears.

“Hey man, don’t leave me hanging!” Marian’s voice feels distant, like it’s coming from underwater. His hand hovers in front of me, but I can't look away from Antonia.

Her forehead. The pale mark I noticed this morning—it’s not pale anymore. It’s a deep, sickly red now, spreading like an infection, as if her blood vessels have burst beneath her skin. The sight of it is wrong, unnatural.

“Antonia, what happened?” My voice cracks, louder than I intended.

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice eerily calm as she tilts her head, revealing more of the horrifying mark.

“Your f-forehead, what happened?” My throat tightens, and I feel a shiver crawl down my spine.

Antonia stares at me blankly, her eyes wide, almost too wide, as if she doesn’t understand what I’m talking about.

“Are you high?” Rebeca’s voice cuts through, sharp and dismissive. I flinch, having forgotten she was even there.

“Huh? Marian!” My voice trembles as I turn to him, desperate. “You can see it, right? On her forehead?”

Marian’s brow furrows in confusion. “Man, what’s gotten into you?” He sounds concerned, but it’s like he doesn’t see what I see. Like I’m the only one witnessing this horror.

“You’re scaring me,” Antonia says softly, her eyes fixed on mine. But her voice—there’s something wrong with it. It sounds too calm, too detached.

Everything feels off, like the world is twisting around me, closing in, and I can’t escape.