I was sitting in my math class just like every morning. We had just finished prayer.
That's when he walked in. He always walked in at that time, right after prayer.
He would walk in with his head down, earbuds in, and a frown on his face.
But today I found that he wore a bruise just peeking out of his black collared T-shirt.
I stared at him intently as he sat down in front of me.
The next day he walked in late at the same time, but with a different bruise marking his arm.
He sat down in front of me with his head on his desk.
Everyday he would walk in late with a new bruise.
And I found myself staring every time.
Perhaps I wanted to talk to him, to help him in some way, but instead I would just stare.
He never spoke a word, but I wanted to hear him.
So one day as I sat waiting for him to arrive, I decided that I was going to talk to him.
But I was too late.
He never arrived.