The next day, during the second break, the group gathered in the courtyard to define the remaining topics for the Literature Fair. There was an implicit discord; not even mediation was possible. The sordid silence bordered on the tension that was created and reinvented itself, worse each time.

  It was a cloudy Tuesday; the tropical country mutually accompanied the social nuances. Miguel was fluent in the matter of charm and, little by little, managed to break part of the barrier of concepts pre-formed by rumors. These being rumors whose origin and subject matter Lucian still did not know.

  Everything had been very sudden, thrown from the state of mourning to the other side of the planet, from a brief structured reconciliation to the screaming silence sequenced by an unspoken something. He was a terrible guesser; he would never know on his own what exactly he had done to be set aside without prior warning.

  But one thing everyone agreed on, in theory, in that group, was the question of the human condition. Certainly, such a sober thing to study and still present to the world one's own plight. Who in their right mind tended to want to understand themselves and others, considering there is madness and everything bad in this secular, repetitive environment?

  Marina was the first to yield in that circle. She was in the same year, from another class, with Diego. She held a small sketchbook, scribbling something, distracted, mumbled, and consequently drew the group's attention to herself. The subtle look of that atmospheric tension made her drum her fingers and blink roughly.

  "So, we need a theme, people," she continued scribbling more quickly.

  "Folks, the fair is coming up," he says, snapping his fingers with a smile of someone who knows how to ignite something private. "We need a theme that isn't just a title on a poster, but that hurts to think about. Something that makes the audience leave here questioning themselves."

  And the spark had taken shape; everyone gathered in a fusion of something greater. They had been summoned by that voice with Kael's precise intonation. Like a call to a war whose leader guaranteed they would win. It had its merits to be recognized by many.

  A young man with an acid and cowardly cynical expression stood up, completely caricatured in his intention.

  "Everything hurts to think about when you don't take a painkiller, Kael," he began, hovering both hands on the round courtyard table, briefly staring at Lucian's transmuting face. "'The Anguish of Existence' and end of discussion. Cliché, but it sells."

  Despite the fright, Lucian still observed the duality. Carlos was a more hostile and less gentle version of Kael. He was sharp like a blade that goes blunt very quickly, and the looks between him and Kael were equally tense; something there was strange. Another strange friendship of his classmate's.

  "Too vague, Carlos." began Pedro, another friend, but not PH. "We need a theoretical scope," he exclaimed, adjusting his glasses and speaking more to the notebook in his hand than to the group. "'The Manifestations of the Tragic in Post-Industrial Society.'"

  Silvia, who was just observing, laughed silently, but her attempt to contain it was repudiated by Pedro, who delivered a precise, scornful, half-moon look. Rolling her eyes, she looked at Marina, over the top of the sketchbook, who was drawing flowers in the corners of the minutes, with messy and misshapen notes.

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  "Or just 'The Human Condition,' that's enough," Marina attempted, without lifting her eyes, in a thread of voice that made everyone stop to listen to her. "It's big enough to fit Carlos's anguish, Pedro's tragic... and everything else." She finally looks at Kael, with a small smile. "It's a map. Each person can trace their own path within it."

  The silence stretches, without tension this time; the theme is broad, but perfect, everyone feels it. While they contemplated the vastness of currents and lenses within a small concept, the bell for MEDs resonated. Each one headed to their own corner; Kael went to the cooking club room.

  Pedro and Carlos followed Camila, who was the equivalent silence of Lucian; she had those eyes of someone who doesn't trust, of someone who consumes everything without filtering the information. Silvia and Marina stayed a while longer with him in an uncomfortable silence.

  "Ah, Lucian," Silvia said, almost regretting it, "I'm a volunteer for the librarian, well, at the library. So, it's, well, like this," she continued with some more meaningless connectors, "be careful with the books on the floor and enjoy the coffee, I'm the one who makes it for her."

  She said it quickly, pulling Marina by the forearm and leaving even faster. He was alone, and signing up for the same MEDs as Kael didn't guarantee much. Despite choosing both available theoretical classes, they were just the necessary minimum, two MEDs, and still the same as his.

  The period passed while he took refuge in the library. Even with Silvia's strange declaration about being a volunteer, he hadn't seen her there yet. Perhaps this was also intentional; perhaps Lucian's thorns were filtering Kael too much, turning him into a mere beam of light.

  He needed to distance himself after this ended; he couldn't continue overshadowing a ray of sunshine; that was a sin. He wouldn't admit it with resentment, but he was gradually ceasing the charming and angelic occupation of his classmate, with his rigid austerity from another place.

  When the MEDs for each member of the day's group came to an end, they met again on the way out of school, and Kael, with a magical smile, nestled into his eloquence, concluding his point of view with natural beauty. Something was still missing from that whole situation.

  "That's it. 'The Human Condition.' No restrictions. Each person takes the facet that burns most inside them," dragging a victorious look over the other group members, he swept over them again, strategic. "But a big project needs strong foundations. How are we going to divide it up?"

  They were at the exit, finally, and Carlos smiled acidly when he suggested:

  "How about we go to the municipal park? That way we can continue planning and debating the project stuff."

  A laughing silence began and was abruptly cut short by Lucian, who refused; he wouldn't say why, nor did he intend to reveal it, when Kael took the forefront among everyone who was rising in premeditated hostility.

  The weird, pedantic guy thinks he's something special not to have to go to a square. It was implicit, but he felt that affirmation in their minds in his core.

  "Don't worry, Lucian," Kael took everyone's attention, and they quickly changed their expressions. "I'll send you our resolutions later. Don't worry about the little things."

  It was left implied that Lucian needed to sort out some problems and couldn't accompany them, thanks to his benefactor. He thanked him mentally like a methodical and robotic, but sincere, prayer. They said goodbye without further problems or concepts formed in the social subtext.

  He longed for that freedom, the experience of being natural, the golden and poignant blue of that sky, the song of wild birds. The leaf that falls and flies to different places, the shooting star, the wanderer who also knew how to be cunning in the great phases of life. But he was nothing more than a son, a member of the Moldoveanu family.