Dan Heng

The spring sun licked his cheeks. Kelus, squinting, offered his pale face to its warm embrace. His pen tapped nervously against the paper. He frowned. His stomach was empty, his head felt empty too. His sharp elbow rested on the table, his palm propped up his cheek. Kelus chewed on the edge of his pen, listening to the monotonous voice in his earpiece.

Dan Heng and Sunday were talking across from each other. Kelus couldn't concentrate, kept losing the thread of the conversation, and occasionally just grunted or nodded. Kelus caught movement to the side.

"We just finished rehearsal. I'm going to die," Mart impatiently blew her bangs off her forehead, tied her hair into a ponytail, sat down next to Kelus, dropped her bag on the floor, and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. As always, she smelled of something sickly sweet. She nudged him in the side with her elbow.

— What's wrong with your face?

She grabbed his fries and shoved them into her mouth. Kelus merely pushed his food toward her—he had no appetite. Mart placed her old but beloved Polaroid on the table.

Kelus shook his head and continued concentrating on copying out the lecture. So much had piled up! It felt like he couldn't keep up. His head was pounding, spinning, and he felt nauseous.

Mart was animatedly discussing something with Sunday, gesturing wildly, her bracelets jingling and shimmering in the sunlight. She was shaking the photographs, talking excitedly about the rehearsal.
Kelus heard Dan Heng's soft laughter. He looked up. His friend's usually reserved, almost stern face seemed to light up from within, becoming unusually bright and open.
Beside him, Sunday, carefully tucking a stray strand of hair behind his ear, leaned toward Dan Heng and quietly whispered something. He smiled again—warmly, sincerely—and for some reason, Kelus caught his breath.

His heart sank. After all, he and Dan Heng had been together since childhood—walking side by side, sharing everything: secrets, dreams, even petty quarrels that were quickly forgotten. This bond seemed unbreakable, so natural that Kelus had never thought about it—until this new, alien intimacy appeared.

He glanced at the schedule, then at his notes, gripping his pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. Kelus was an art major, just like Mart. Dan Heng and Sunday had chosen the business department, and perhaps that was what had brought them together: shared classes, projects, conversations about the future. But somehow this simple logic now seemed like a pathetic excuse to Kelus. When had they even managed to become so close? He and Sunday had only met at the beginning of the school year, but he had quickly become part of their group.
A bitter heaviness spread through his chest, as if Sunday was slowly stealing away the person dearest to him. Seeing them together was almost physically painful.

A strange feeling of being out of place suddenly washed over him. Kelus froze. All sounds seemed to fade. He could only hear his own rapid breathing. He blinked a couple of times. The hand gripping the pen trembled. He flinched as he felt a barely perceptible touch on his leg—it evoked a strange mixture of anxiety and relief. Kelus felt like a wounded animal suddenly offered a helping hand.
His gaze caught Dan Heng's smile—soft, caring, unlike usual. It lacked the ease that always existed between them. It was tinged with sympathy, and this frightened Kelus even more.

Kelus slammed the folder shut. Three pairs of eyes turned to him in confusion. He quickly threw his things into his backpack, grabbed his sketchbook as he went, and stood up quickly.

"I have to go now. I promised to bring Aventurin a flash drive," he muttered, frantically gathering his things. He didn't want to meet their gazes, didn't want to see those expressions again—sympathetic, worried, confused.

"Seriously?" Mart frowned, raised an eyebrow, leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms across her chest.

"I'll call you this evening. We'll play something," Kelus smiled crookedly, unnaturally, and flicked her on the nose.

“Okay,” Mart deflated.

“Bye,” Sunday said dully, waving his hand listlessly.

"Kelus, stop!" Dan Heng jumped up, as if about to rush after him, but Kelus didn't look up at him, as if cutting off all attempts to speak.

"See you!" Kelus winked, waved at them, and flew out of the cafe like a bullet.

• Oh, Kelus, is something bothering you?