Altruistic Self-Destruction
A wave of resignation washed over me, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out in a sharp, bitter rush. "Just expel me for as long as you can. I stole the money and spent it all yesterday. How much was it? 5000 rupees, or maybe 6000 rupees. I'll send the money to your account." The hopelessness in my voice made my throat tighten. I had given up.
What was the point in defending myself? The truth felt too far-fetched, like a fragile thread that would snap the moment it was pulled too hard. How could I possibly explain that my childhood friend, now a famous celebrity, had bought me these clothes and taken me to the salon to do my hair? No one would believe me—not when the rumors already ran wild. If they asked me to call her here, I could already imagine the trouble it would cause for my uncle and aunt, and that was the last thing I wanted.
The silence between us was thick, like a heavy curtain, until the teacher's voice broke through, quiet but persistent. "Just listen... It's not too late to explain everything. Why are you giving up before you even fight? I know you're not the type of student to do something like this."
His words hit me like a cold splash of water, but they didn't change the fact that I felt utterly alone in this. I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "So what? Even if I prove myself innocent, will anyone feel guilty about what they did to me? To them, I'm not even human. And as for you... I'm just a pitiful student." My voice shook with the weight of years of feeling overlooked, misunderstood. "Just do your job, teacher. Teaching is the only thing you're supposed to do. You shouldn't waste your time trying to change society. Society's too harsh—you'll get mentally killed by it."
The teacher's eyes softened, the concern in his gaze surprising me. "Caring about students, solving their problems... that's also a teacher's job. You can tell me all your worries. I'm here to listen, even if I can't solve them."
I scoffed under my breath, the bitterness threatening to overwhelm me. "My worries?" I repeated, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "I've learned the hard way that sharing your worries only makes them worse. Can I leave now? Don't worry, I'm leaving."
I stood up, my hands trembling slightly as I grabbed the bag of clothes from the teacher's desk. I didn't care that my movements were stiff or that the weight of everything was threatening to crush me. The door to the staffroom loomed ahead, a small, safe escape from the suffocating tension. I walked toward it, each step heavier than the last. As I reached for the door, a part of me wanted to turn back, to ask for help, to let him in. But I couldn't. Not now. Not when it felt like the world was turning its back on me. I left the staffroom with my head down, the weight of everything I had yet to face still heavy on my shoulders. It felt like I was walking away from the possibility of redemption, the possibility of being understood, but it didn't matter anymore.
I didn't want to talk about my troubles. I didn't want anyone to feel sorry for me. I just wanted to escape.
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The 'Losing Hero' just took the ultimate hit. 📉💔