The following day, Miss Eniola returned to their class once more.
This time, she arrived with something different, tiny sheets of paper and vibrant markers.
"I'd like you to give something a go," she stated, smiling. "A straightforward activity." Record one thing that makes you feel proud. Only one. There's no need to reveal it to anyone. "It's solely for you."
Moans resonated throughout the classroom.
Gabriel sighed and murmured, "They honestly believe crayons can heal trauma."
Angela stifled a chuckle. Yet, beneath the surface, she realized she felt more anxious than entertained.
What made her feel proud?
She gazed at the empty sheet of paper for an extended period.
After that, she gradually wrote:
I made it through yesterday.
She neatly folded it and placed it into her pocket.
After class, as others hurried out to have fun, Angela paused. She faced the guidance counselor's office again, then stopped.
Gabriel met her gaze. "Are you going?"
Angela agreed with a nervous nod.
"Alright," he responded. "I'll be by the field waiting for you."
Miss Eniola's workspace was compact, crowded with books, diagrams, and a pair of padded chairs. It had a subtle scent of lavender.
Angela was positioned in the entrance.
"Angela," Miss Eniola remarked, glancing up from her file. "Do you want to take a seat?"
Angela entered and sat at the edge of the chair.
"I simply… I'm unsure of what to say," she murmured.
"You don't need to mention anything particular," the counselor responded. "Feel free to share details about your day." Your aspirations. "Or perhaps even absolutely nothing."
Angela nodded, her lips sealed.
"I occasionally write," she eventually stated. "Only for me."
"That's lovely," Miss Eniola remarked. "Writing has the potential to be impactful." "Occasionally, it reveals the truth that we are too scared to express openly."
Angela gazed upward. Their gazes locked.
"I sense that… nobody notices me," she confessed.
"I notice you," Miss Eniola said gently.
Angela blinked quickly, then averted her gaze. Her throat was constricted.
"Thanks," she murmured.
They continued conversing for a bit, nothing too profound. Sufficient to feel secure. When Angela exited the office, the atmosphere seemed lighter.
She discovered Gabriel waiting, throwing a stone into the grass.
"How did it go?" he inquired.
Angela offered a faint smile. "Quite good."
Gabriel lifted an eyebrow. "Not too shabby?" "That's a significant compliment coming from you."
Both of them chuckled.
That evening at home, the yelling didn't occur. Her mother was absent, likely at a neighbor's place or drinking once more. The quietness in the home seemed oddbut not frightening.
Angela took out her notebook and jotted down:
Today, I was noticed.
Not by all. Yet adequately.
I don't require everyone in the world to pay attention.
Only a single individual. Perhaps two.
Perhaps that is where healing begins.
She hesitated, then remarked:
Gabriel remained.
Miss Eniola paid attention.
And for the initial time, I sense that perhaps, just perhaps…
I'm not entirely by myself.
She shut the notebook and gazed at the ceiling.
In the far background, thunder echoed—but she remained unmoved. The storm wasn't inside her tonight.