A Class Apart: Leading Lights

SCARS BENEATH THE SKIN

CHAPTER -06
SCARS BENEATH THE SKIN

DVITI'S POV:

The day started like any other, with the usual hustle and bustle of school life filling the corridors. But a disturbing one, a concern that bit at my thoughts and refused to let go. Samarth, my closest friend, had been acting strangely lately, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong.

It all arose from that encounter with Lili. What should have been a simple interaction turned into a tangled mess of emotions. Samarth's reaction to seeing her, the awkwardness that hung between us like a heavy fog – it was all too much. And then, in a moment of mere foolery, he mentioned something about cutting his hand over it. I brushed it off at the time, thinking he was just being dramatic, but now I wondered if there was more to it than I realized.
So, I did what any concerned friend would do – I warned him. I told him, half in fun, that if he ever did something like that, I'd slap some sense into him. He laughed it off, of course, but little did I know that those words would come back to haunt me.

As the days went by, Samarth's behavior grew increasingly troubled. He seemed distant, lost in his thoughts, and no matter how hard I tried to reach out, he kept me at arm's length. It was like he was trying to hide from me, to shield me from whatever nightmares were troubling him.

Even our morning assemblies, where we would usually catch up and share our thoughts on the day ahead, became awkward and strained. Samarth would avoid my gaze, slipping away as soon as the opportunity presented itself. It hurt, watching him retreat like that, but I didn't know how to break through to him.

Desperate for answers, I turned to Zain, hoping he might shed some light on the situation. But even he was in the dark, clueless as to what was happening with Samarth. It was like he had built a wall around himself, shutting us out completely.

Frustrated and worried, I finally confronted Samarth about his behavior. His response was dismissive, almost smarty as if he didn't want to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. But then he mentioned tuition, and something in his tone gave me pause.
When we finally met at tuition, the truth was laid bare before me. Samarth showed me his hand, the skin marred by the cut, and my heart sank. I didn't know what to say, or how to react, so I just stayed quiet, wrestling with the vileness of what I had just witnessed.

The silence stretched between us like an unspoken barrier, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. I stood there, wrestling with a storm of conflicting emotions, unsure of what to say or do next.

But as we stepped out onto the terrace, the cool evening air offering a momentary salvation from the suffocating atmosphere inside, Samarth's voice shattered the silence like a bolt of lightning. His apology, though whispered, carried the weight of the world, a desperate plea for forgiveness.
Yet, despite his words, rage still simmered beneath the surface of my composure. How could he expect me to simply forgive and forget after what he had done? I turned away, ready to retreat into the safety of solitude.

But then, as if sensing my intent, Samarth moved in front of me, blocking my path with an almost desperate urgency. His eyes, once filled with laughter and light, were now clouded with remorse and regret.
"Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the whisper of the wind. "You said you would slap me, right? Then do it."

His words hung in the air, expectant with meaning, a challenge and a plea rolled into one. And in that moment, I realized the depth of his despair, the pain that he had been silently carrying all this time.

My hand trembled as it rose, hesitating for a fraction of a second before making contact with his cheek. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed through the night, a sharp reminder of the boundaries we had crossed.

But as Samarth's hand rose to touch the place where my palm had landed, his lips curved into a smile—a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. And in that smile, I saw the flicker of hope, the promise of redemption. Instead of flinching in pain or anger, he smiled—a strange, mysterious smile that sent shivers down my spine. It was as if the slap had unlocked something within him, releasing a floodgate of emotions that had long been suppressed.

Confusion clouded my thoughts as I struggled to make sense of Samarth's reaction. Was he laughing at me? Mocking my feeble attempt to shake him out of his self-destructive spiral? Or was there something deeper at play, something hidden beneath the surface of his smile?

In a voice tinged with uncertainty, I cautioned him not to repeat his dare, my words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. But even as I spoke, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this encounter than met the eye. Samarth's smile, that haunting, cryptic smile, remained in my mind long after the echoes of the slap had faded into silence.

I felt my anger melt away, replaced by a deep sadness.
At that moment, I realized just how much pain Samarth must have been in to resort to such drastic measures.

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