It
only takes a spark to transform one’s fate. It is that spark which ignited a possibility
that one had never thought possible.
Zenith attended a
summer teambuilding camp by the sea that he went to every year since he turned
11. It was supposed to be a bonding experience with his peers, with the age
range from 11 to 17. This was his last year, and he hoped it would be the most
memorable one.
He took in the
surroundings of the camp with practiced observation. His attention gravitated
towards a few girls who were under the shade nearby.
“A
good-for-nothing kid like you here? A disgrace!” spat one lean girl, whose name was Emma.
The short stout girl beside her snickered, then carelessly kicked
the side of the crouching girl.
It was evident by
the aggressive stance of the two girls standing that they were picking on an
innocent girl who could do no harm to them. Though it was a small wince, Zenith’s keen eyes saw
it. His inner sense of justice brought him to her rescue.
“Hey, leave her alone!”
As he shouted, he strode quickly towards her. As Zenith expected, those two bullies naturally fled as they saw him.
Her face was half
hidden behind a cascade of dark hair when she turned away upon his arrival.
Zenith crouched down before her and touched her knee lightly, to which she
cringed away. With no other inspiration elsewhere, he seated himself next
to her, yet leaving her ample amount of personal space.
For the first time, he was given the chance to talk, to be
a gentleman, like those social aristocrats he had always admired. Opportunities
often offer themselves at the most unexpected of times. Like any other time,
his throat would dry up and he was unable to utter a single sound. Well, he
could, but it would just sound like a dehydrated frog croaking.
“What’s your name?” he asked finally.
He reminisced about his first day here, when every single person
within a radius of 5 feet evaded him, including the teachers. Zenith was ignored,
ostracised, uninvited— his presence was as insignificant as a tiny background
detail. Zenith was truly a loner back then. Some still stayed clear from him,
like Emma and her coconspirator. For what reasons, he never knew. However, his void was incomparable to her experiences, as he would soon learn.
The silence stretched on. He would have concluded that she
was a mute but for an almost inaudible whisper:
“Iris.”
He turned to face her and was met by a pair of soft eyes,
but her gaze was hard. The unmatching contrast served as a shock to him. He
could not imagine what pain had been forged on the anvil of pain and suffering for such sorrow
to be emanated. He was tongue-tied, but before he could speak, his sharp eyes noticed
something glinting in her hand; broken glass. Then he saw them—deep physical scars on her bare arm which
he suspected were previously self-inflicted. He wouldn’t have seen them except
that he was tremendously nervous speaking one-to-one with a stranger, so his
eyes were darting everywhere. Suddenly, a pang of fear gripped him as he
connected the dots— Iris was about to cut herself.
Scared out of his wits, he reached out providently, in
hopes of removing the looming threat against all odds without startling the
sensitive girl. For some reason, she let him. Her still form watched him like a
hawk.
Zenith made sure it was way out of her
reach before heaving an immense sigh of relief. He stared deeply and earnestly
at her.
“Don’t lose yourself, Iris.”
She seemed to have caught on to his intentions. He had
broken the surface and instinctively identified what was amiss. He would have been
none the wiser, if not for his gut feeling earlier. There had been an invisible
pull — could that have been divine intervention? — that attracted his attention
towards the enigmatic girl. He felt
as though he had achieved something fulfilling.
It only took a spark of empathy and kindness to bond two broken souls.
