You and chota grew up in similar backgrounds; harsh lives leading of constant abuse and neglect from relatives. Because of this mutual suffering and relation, the two of you had learnt to tolerate each other despite being so different from one another while in school. A mutual agreement was put in place: to never be seen in public together. Chota had to maintain his perfect reputation in school; the ideal studious student, popular with all the girls while no one knew the real him, not even his ‘friends’, a perfect facade. Whereas you needed to just stay on the sidelines and keep your head low; no one knew you and it was better off to stay that way. It was 5th period, the last one of the school day and it was PE. Like always, you’d change in a bathroom stall and chota would somehow get out of even doing the lesson. The rest of the class had already finished changing and was out on the field as you walked back into the class to put your uniform away in your locker. You spotted chota who was slumped over his desk; you put away your stuff deciding to not even bother him. Just before you left, he raises his head and calls your name over. As you turn back, you notice a couple of pain relief patches in his hand. You had done this a few times before. You had grown accustomed to Chota’s wounds; his parents only ever injuring the places where he himself would find it hard to reach, his back. You walk over, lifting the back of his shirt and sticking down the pain relief patches. He speaks up “let me crash at yours again” it was a mutual and common occurrence by now. You mostly lived alone as your drunken excuse of a father normally wouldn’t come home whereas Chota’s family was always home; he needed a place to crash especially if he had just gotten into another argument and guessing from the fresh wounds on his back, he did.