As days passed, I started to feel bored again—actually, more bored than ever before. I guess it was because I had tied high expectations to this school. I thought maybe it would be different. Maybe I could finally blend in, or maybe—just maybe—be seen. But instead, it was just another rat hole with new walls and old problems.

  But my boredom didn’t last long.

  The wolves had noticed me.

  It started with a shove. After our fourth class ended, I stood up to go for recess. I had just tucked my books away and was about to step out of my seat when a heavy hand slammed down on my shoulder. It sent a jolt down my spine.

  I turned.

  Four students stood around me, their faces half-smiling, half-hunting. At the center of them stood Rafe, the ringleader—tall, broad, and with sharp eyes that always seemed to gleam with menace. To his left was Devan, the loud one, with a raspy voice and a crooked nose that made him look like he enjoyed violence too much. Kushal, lean and snake-like, always grinning like he was in on a joke no one else got. And then there was Rony, quiet but cruel—the one who didn’t speak much but was the first to throw a punch.

  Rafe leaned in. "New bug in class, huh? Think you're better than us with your silent face and top marks?"

  Before I could answer, they laughed. That mocking, hollow laugh.

  I didn’t reply. I didn’t even make eye contact. I just picked up my bag and walked away.

  That was mistake number one.

  From that day on, the torment began.

  They started small—wetting my chair before class, stealing my pencils, whispering things during lectures to distract me, throwing bits of chalk and paper balls at my head.

  I ignored it all. I thought if I didn’t react, they’d lose interest.

  But silence, it turns out, can be provocative.

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  They didn’t stop. They escalated.

  Pins were scattered across my chair one day. The next, they dragged me into the washroom during recess. Rafe slammed me against the wall and hissed, "Bark."

  I didn’t.

  He punched me in the stomach.

  "I said bark, you freak."

  I barked. A dry, broken sound.

  They laughed.

  "Good boy," Devan mocked, throwing cold water on me. "Now lick the floor."

  I stared at the stained tiles, frozen.

  Rony stepped on my back. "Didn’t hear him? He said lick."

  I licked.

  The taste of dirt and bleach and old spit stayed in my mouth for hours.

  I said nothing. To anyone. I couldn’t.

  They warned me. "One word," Kushal whispered one day during lunch, "and you’re dead. Not hospital. Dead."

  My grades started dropping. I couldn’t sleep. I was tired all the time. In class, I dozed off or stared blankly at the board.

  Mr. Das, our math teacher, scolded me one day in front of everyone. “You were a sharp student the first week. What happened to you? Are you losing interest or just pretending?”

  I didn’t answer. What could I say? That I was losing pieces of myself daily?

  Miss Ayesha, the English teacher, called my parents. They came in fuming.

  At home, my father shouted. “Why are your marks falling like this? You’ve picked up bad habits! No more games, no more excuses. Study!”

  My mother looked away, disappointed.

  They didn’t know.

  No one did.

  And I was dying inside.

  Then—everything changed.

  It was just another recess.

  They had dragged me into the washroom again. My knees ached. My back stung. They made me crawl this time.

  "Slower," Rafe barked. "Dogs don’t run."

  The others laughed.

  Then Rony grabbed me by the collar and slammed my head into the floor. "Say you’re trash."

  "Say it!" Devan shouted.

  "T...trash," I whispered.

  Suddenly, a voice cut through the air like a blade.

  "Why do you torment the weak? Can't you handle someone your size? Or are you just scared little boys playing tough?"

  Everything stopped.

  I looked up.

  At the doorway stood the new transfer student. He had joined our class just that morning. Thin frame, fair skin, large round glasses, neatly parted and oiled hair. He looked like a sheep to me—a meek, quiet sheep who would soon become the next target.

  Rafe scoffed. "And who the hell are you, glasses?"

  The boy smiled softly. "Just someone tired of watching cowards pretend they're strong."

  Devan snapped. "GET HIM!"

  All four of them lunged at once.

  I flinched and shut my eyes, waiting to hear the sound of someone being crushed.

  Instead, I heard chaos—grunts, gasps, the thud of bodies hitting the floor. Then silence.

  I opened my eyes.

  They were all down.

  All four bullies were sprawled across the floor, groaning in pain.

  The boy stood untouched, his glasses slightly askew but otherwise calm.

  He walked over to me, knelt down, and offered me a tissue.

  "Are you okay?"

  I nodded slowly, my lips trembling.

  He smiled. “I’m Gray Park. Nice to meet you.”

  your story matters.

  —ProllyDed