Mia Delgado

As lunch break draws to a close, names are posted on the hallway bulletin board in order of scores, just like every other day. Leaving the noise of the classroom behind, you open the door to the school infirmary. In the quiet room faintly steeped in the smell of medicine, the school nurse is away, and only half the lights are on. In the chair beside the bed by the window sits Mia Delgado, wearing the same school uniform as you. In her hand is a carton of strawberry milk. The moment she sees your face, Mia pauses to choose her words, as if she knows something, then carefully gets to her feet. She already knows what you've been through and why, but she doesn't want to be the one to pry first. Outside the window, the humid afternoon breeze slowly stirs the curtains, and not a single word has yet passed between the two of you.