Breathe in.

Breathe out.

I repeat the process two to three times trying to calm my increasing heart rate. I mentally prepare myself for the embarrassment that might follow the little show I put up sometime ago. Clueless as to how many hours has passed, the only prayer I have in mind is not to walk into the English hour. Prof. Evans is the last person I want to see at the moment.

Guess who I am greeted with when I reach the classroom. Yeah, the very same professor I mentioned earlier.

Eyes swollen, heart pounding, I leave one last breath before showing up at the room entrance. "Come in," she ushers me in, a motherly concern crossing her features and disappearing as quickly as it comes.

I sense few curious glances pass my way as I take my seat, my eyes fixed on the floor all the while. "Hey," the girl with black spectacles beside me nudges me. I shift my gaze from my notebook to her. "What's wrong?" One look and I know she's prying. Ignoring her, I return to paying attention to the lecture.

Attention is not something I'm used to, but I know I brought this on myself. If only I had a little more strength, I could've covered up my emotions. But again, I can never attain the expertise waves have.

The stares die the minute class resumes. I wait for the bell, wanting to escape any kind of human interaction since I realised I'm still vulnerable. A tap and I'll break. Even the favourite proses fails to interest me.

I grab my bag the second class ends and try dashing out once again, but all in vain. "Bree." I hear Prof. Evans call from behind.

I turn in my heels and approach her desk, knowing I have no way out, "Yeah, professor?"

She leads me to a nearby bench and we sit. Her tone soft, she enquires, "Are you alright?"

Trying to remain neutral, I nod, my puffy red eyes proving anything but. Not in the least convinced, she touches my arm, affectionately, "You sure?"

"Yeah." I breathe.

Disbelieving, she shakes her head, "Does it have anything to do with your—"

I hastily interrupt her, louder than I intend to, slipping my bag on, "I need to go." When I see her about to stop me, I add in a voice so strained, "Please."

Hurriedly, I move through the crowd wanting to escape the chaos following me around.

"Hey Bree! Wait up." Reaching me out of breath, a classmate of mine, Linda I guess, asks, "Is everything okay?"

Taken aback for a second, I simply stare at her. She looks back, expectantly. I sigh, "Have we talked before?"

Now she's the one taken aback, "Uh..um no.."

I cross my arms across my chest. "Then why the sudden concern?" My voice is calm, calmer than usual.

"Uh.. I.. Bree.."

Speechless, isn't she? I chuckle, exasperated about people's fake concern, shake my head and resume trying to push myself out of the crowd.

Two hours later, I'm home, sitting at my desk, indulging myself in completing the notes I missed out last week. Hands scrawling mechanically, my mind wanders thoughtlessly. Not wanting to go to places I try to avoid, I run my playlist while doing the piled up work.

Two songs down, 'Perfect together' by Rosanna Pansino blares up. My pen stills, so do I. The music reaches the lines:

You and me,
We make each other better.
We may not be perfect,
But we're perfect together.

You and me,
We'll make it through whatever.
We may not be perfect,
But we're perfect together.

I see myself in bed, half sitting, half lying. My brother, Wren, beside me, singing the lyrics in his rough I-can-sing-and-kill voice on my birthday. I burst out laughing, my eyes glistening with joy. I slap his arm and pull him into an awkward hug.

The drops of tears spilling on my hand snaps me off the memory, bringing me back to my desk, the books scattered on it, the pen unmoved, the playlist jumping onto another song, the wetness of my cheeks still raw.

The fact that the scene I just saw is unlikely to happen in future stabs my insides like nothing else, shedding more tears. I whimper, clutching my hair in frustration and dropping my head on the notes in front.

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