Young Writers Society

I sat on the place where I experienced the recurring dream - my bed. My lower body was covered by cool blue blanket. I should sleep since it was ten o’clock at night. The half-opened door let enough fluorescent light to enter my dark room. I could see the details of my room like I could on the cloudy evening. Mum sat at the edge of the bed, waiting to hear what I wanted to say.

I examined Mum’s gray eyes I inherited before rubbing my sleepy eyes. “Arman wants to throw a birthday party for me,” I said. I played with the outline of the blanket, enjoying its fluffy surface.

Mum raised her eyes, massaging my left arm with care. She gave me a smile. “He’s a rich boy. We’ve never done a birthday party for you -” I could hear her guilty low note, “though I did cook something nice when your birthday came.”

I patted her massaging hand. I could feel the trace of calluses on it and something else - the warmth. ‘It’s okay, Mum. I’ve never complained, have I? I love your food.” I returned her smile with one of my own.

She sighed in relief. This familiar worry was one of the things I liked about her. She tapped her forefinger on her pale pink lips. “You’re going to turn nineteen, aren’t you? I have something to give to you. Wait here for a bit.”

I nodded and she left, her shadow trailing her curvaceous body behind. I immersed myself in the air of silence, staring at the ceiling with and empty mind. A few minutes later, Mum arrived, holding something in her hand. I could see a string dangling out of it. She assumed her earlier position and opened her fisted palm. In it was a necklace.

“This necklace is a charm. One of the family’s possessions. It was your father’s,” she said, the last part fell into a whisper. Her eyes withered, and mine followed suit. Her mouth twitched upward then, the sparkles in her eyes returned. “This is the gift for your birthday. Happy advanced birthday.”

She giggled, and I chuckled. I let out my hand, opening my palm. She dropped the necklace to my bare palm. I inspected it. A sparkling and tiny silver stone hanged between it, its string having the same colour. It was beautiful. I squeezed it tightly. I looked at Mum, hoping my eyes were enough to reflect the bugging question: Why now?

“Well, that’s it. Good night,” she said. She started to get up but I grabbed her arm.

I bit my lips, seconds of hesitation stopping me from saying anything. I mustered my courage. “I’ve been having this dream recently. It’s been a week now.”

Breaking her rigidness, she went closer to me, the details of her beautiful face becoming sharper. “And? What was it, Aiden?”

“I dreamed of a tiger. Its colour was white, its stripes silver. It kept lunging on me but when it started to do that, the dream stopped and I woke up,” I said, letting a rush of words out of my mouth. “Do you think there’s a meaning to it, Mum?”

I could see Mum’s eyes widened for mere seconds. I could feel her holding her breath just as long. She caressed my face. “It’s nothing, sweetheart. It’s just a dream. You’ll get over it soon. I’m sure of it.” She kissed my forehead. “I forgot to tell you - we’re going to your father’s grave tomorrow. Come back home quickly after school.”

Father. I’d never knew about my father. Mum said he died when I was three. My memory of him was hazy and little. The only thing I wondered about his death was how. How did he die? I’d asked Mum about this but she always evaded the question. I didn’t know why. My grandfather from my father’s side said he was involved in an accident. I wasn’t sure if that was true - if it was, why couldn’t Mum just say that?

“Okay,” I said.

She left.

“Absolutely no balloons,” Arman, jotting down something on his notebook. “Those are for primary school students. Very childish.”

Dismissing the thought to tell him I liked balloons, I could see his frown he never left since we arrived at school. Fifteen minutes left and class would start. Since it was still early, the room wasn’t noisy as only two third of its members were here. I tapped lightly the table, waiting with patience for the boredom to end. Well, having classes were less boring than not doing anything at all.

Arman turned to me, tapping his black pen on the notebook. “I want to ask you about something -” his head retreated a bit, “what’s that on your neck?”

I raised my eyebrow, and touched the string hanging around my neck. I hid the silver stone behind my shirt.“This? My Mum said it’s a charm. I’m not sure for what but it looks cool.”

“Well, you better ask your Mum about that,” Arman said. He reached out his hand and touched the string, the warmth of his finger kissing my neck. “It does look cool though.”

I shivered for a bit, wanting for a mere second for him to touch me at other parts. I just needed to be patient before I could tell him how I felt so that the burden was off my shoulder. I grabbed his hand, savoring for a moment the feel of it and released it from the necklace gently. “I know. It makes me look cool too.”

He smiled. “You’re cool already.”

I chuckled on that. I checked at my wristwatch and saw fifteen minutes were up. Form six school didn’t use bells so we had to keep in touch with time all the time. Teacher Aminah would arrive soon at anytime. Just when I was about to fish out my mobile phone and play online game, she arrived. Wearing a huge spectacle and thick makeup, she looked like a nerd desperate to have attention.

She dropped her books on the table and observed the class. It was already full with its members and noisiness ensued. “Keep quiet!” she said loudly, sending a chilling sound to the whole class, forcing its members to shut up. “I know all of your are full with energy but let spend it on studying, shall we? Now, go sit at your place.”

Some of the students scrambled to their place, and silence took over noisiness immediately, giving an uncomfortable effect of the class being dead as the graveyard. Arman was still writing down the birthday party plan on his notebook. He was one of the few students who were immune with Teacher Aminah’s strict aura. Even I could not muster up enough courage to go against the Empress.

“Today we have a new student coming here,” she said, starting her speech. So it was true then, the student Arman talked about. “He should be coming here at any time. I had just talked to his parents. He needed to do some registration matter at the office.”

As if on cue, a new figure stepped into the class with a confident stride, and I caught my breath when I saw him. A dark gray shirt hugged his muscular frame - broad shoulders and chest. He was just as muscular as Arman. But that wasn’t the one catching my attention the most. It was his face. He had golden eyes and pale skin. His hair looked like it was painted with silver colour.

He caught me watching him and gave me a gimlet stare. Out of a sudden, the silver necklace felt colder than before.

A/N: I decided to change some of the characters’ names because they were taken from real life. For those who are confused, Arman is Tameem with Teacher Aminah is Teacher Amination