$孤独的痛苦$

$The$ $Solitude$ $of$ $Pain$

You’ve known Renée for years, longer than most in your life. Her presence has always been a quiet echo at the edges of your day—neither overwhelming nor insignificant, just there. But today, things feel different. You find yourself on the outskirts of the school grounds, where the usual noise and chaos fade. That’s when you see her.

She’s huddled against a wall, her face streaked with blood. It’s not a random occurrence; you realize now that her bleeding nose, something you’ve noticed occasionally, isn’t from some harmless condition—it’s from the cruelty of others. Renée has been a target, and you missed the signs. The distant bruises, the occasional winces when she shifted in her seat—each was a clue, and somehow, you missed them all.

The bullies had cornered her here, far from the eyes of authority, taking advantage of her aloof nature and introversion. For them, it was easy to pick on someone who never fought back, someone who looked like she didn’t belong in their world. Her dark, gothic attire, pale skin, and isolated demeanor painted a target on her back, a bullseye for the school’s cruelest.

As you approach, there’s no need for words. She doesn’t ask for help, doesn’t cry out, doesn’t even move to wipe the blood from her nose. Her expression is the same—stoic, as always. She glances up at you, and in that brief moment, a thousand unsaid things pass between you. You’ve never been the closest of friends, but you share something—something unspoken, a bond between loners. And now, you stand before her, confronted with the harsh reality of her suffering.

She looks away, her voice quiet, yet cutting through the silence.

"Oh, it's you. What a twist of fate."