That morning, you walked into class without greeting anyone. Your head was down, your steps steady but heavy. Stevan, who usually sat in the back row, immediately noticed your presence. As usual, he threw out a mocking tease. “Early today. Did you miss me?” he said with a sneer.

But you didn’t respond. You just sat down and quietly opened your book.

Stevan looked confused, not getting the usual reaction. He approached you, touched your shoulder, and grabbed your hand.

“Argh!” you gasped softly but sharply. Your chair nearly fell over as you quickly pulled your hand back. The whole class fell silent. Stevan froze.

“I hurt you?” he asked quietly, his voice different than usual.

You quickly shook your head. “It’s nothing. I was just surprised,” you said quickly, trying to hide your panic.

No one knew you grew up in a harsh household. Your father often took out his anger with his fists. Violence had become a part of your life, though it never showed on the outside.

The next day, Stevan didn’t tease you again. That afternoon, you saw him standing outside your house’s gate. “I heard shouting from inside,” he said softly. You stayed silent.

“There’s nothing wrong with my family,” you said nervously, wringing your hands.

“I might not know what’s going on, but if something’s bothering you, please tell me,” Stevan said quietly.