He had his head down the moment he entered the classroom. As he made his way to his seat, his fingers gripped the loose strap on his backpack, his eyes glued to the floor. I watch as he swings his backpack in front of him, unzips it, and pulls something from inside—a notebook and a pen—before dropping his bag on the floor.

With barely three minutes until the teacher arrived in the classroom, I rose up from my seat. I stepped up towards him, my gaze fixed on his. I slid the chair in front of him and sat down; almost instantly, he lifted his chin to look at me, his eyes widening in surprise.

"H-Hey," he says with an obvious sign of bewilderment with a hint of embarrassment written all over his face as his voice trembles to greet me good morning right after.

I shake my head to help shake the teasing voices away. He managed to smile at me. I almost thought, in the back of my mind, that he was faking it or maybe, all of his smiles were fake all along.

I opened my mouth but found myself unable to utter a proper word out. I thought twice about whether what I may say might come across as rude or a chance to belittle his emotions.

"I messaged and called you," I told him, "I was worried. You didn't return any of them, is everything not okay?" I asked soon after.

He blinked, no response.

"Or you can just tell me that you're not in the mood to talk right now," I said, earning a response from him with a shaking head.

Aaren opened his mouth, ready to speak, but was instantly cut off when the teacher entered the classroom and everyone went back to their proper seats. I got up and was about to return to my seat when he caught my wrist and said, "Later at lunch."

I nodded my head and he smiles again. I returned his smile back.

❀

Since class ended a few minutes earlier, Aaren had been silent ever since that. As we walked into the cafeteria for lunch, he didn't say anything. I continued stealing glances at him, but he was back to staring at the floor. It felt inappropriate to speak at first, knowing that it was now my time to listen to him, as he always listened to me.

"People kept pressuring me to forgive my dad for what he did," he says, out of the blue. I looked at him as we both waited in line.

"By people, whom do you mean?"

"My mom, brother, and aunt."

I nodded my head as a sign of acknowledging what he was telling me, "Well, what about you? Have you ever found yourself forgiving him one day for what he did?" I asked but he didn't answer. Instead of answering that, he asked me:

"What about you? Have you forgotten the ones that have blamed you for not doing anything when your sister killed herself?"

His sudden question caught me off guard. The conversation suddenly shifted to me. Now I'm the subject and a part of me felt disrespected. A few of the kids in front of us who were first in line turned their heads to look at us for a second or two.

I felt a bit uncomfortable answering the question, but I answered immediately in hopes that the subject might go back at him, "No. I'm not sure. Generally, no, because they don't know the whole story. People just make assumptions, and they tend to believe what they want to think, especially when it comes from people they can trust."

"Then, my answer's the same," he says as he grabs a tray and starts grabbing food in front of him, "People easily forgive people after the ones who have done them wrong finally did something right. Just because they did something right, doesn't guarantee consistency."

I'm not sure where he's coming from, but a part of me understood what he was saying. I'm trying not to get too worked up over what's troubling him right now because I know he'll talk about it when he's ready. I didn't want to push him or interfere with his thoughts since he was already focused on what he wanted to focus on: comprehending the genuine meaning of forgiveness.

We occupied a table near the exit after paying for our food. I watch him stare at his salad in silence as if he suspected something was on it.

"My mom told me that my dad offered to donate his kidney to her," Despite my confusion at the abrupt spill of his perspective on something I am absolutely unaware of, he continues to tell me what's on his mind.

I coughed, "May I ask what happened to your mom for your dad to decide to donate his kidney to her?"

"My mom has lupus and her condition kept getting worse for the past few months this year. The doctor insisted to get a transplant done as soon as we find a match for her kidney. We tried searching the past couple of years and found no match until I was informed a few days ago that my dad was a good match for her."

He looked at me, "I wanted to tell my mom to decline the offer and that I'll find a better match for her but at the same time, I wouldn't want to risk her health just because of my pride."

I was at a loss for words. I wasn't sure what kind of words he wanted to hear or what kind of words would offer him comfort instead of giving him too much sympathy for something I knew he didn't want.

"So, that's what also happened why I missed your calls and messages. I was at the hospital with my mom ever since that day she collapsed," he told me, "I'm really sorry."

I shake my head, "Don't be. I'm just glad that you're okay."

"But the truth is that I'm not sure I'm okay. Everyone wants to forgive and move forward from my dad's behavior toward my mom, but I couldn't. I think you simply become desensitized to such things over time instead of finding yourself to forgive people."

The thing about forgiveness is that it is attached to the idea of having to find peace in it. Which, I believe, isn't true.

"You don't have to force yourself to forgive your dad just because your family wants you to. You also don't have to force yourself to forgive your dad just because he's done something that is... for the betterment of your family," I told him.

To forgive and to forget. Whoever said that was a fool. I felt deep down that whoever pushed my sister to commit suicide would never and should never be forgiven. On the other hand, I don't know Aaren's past or the complete narrative of his family, particularly his father. Although, one thing that I do know is that I don't want him to spend the rest of his life hating his father, as I am doing now with the person who drove my sister to kill herself.

Aaren didn't appear interested in talking about his family or his mother's condition any longer. I let him speak freely about whatever he wanted to share with me as I continue to listen. We arranged to meet later in the study hall at the library to talk about our project for Ms. Romeo's class.

I tried not to be too concerned about Aaren because it seemed like he doesn't want me to be. I pushed the thought of retrieving the remaining notes to the back of my mind as I was starting to feel bad about bothering him with them, knowing now that he had more important things on his mind than stressing over a silly adventure with a girl who couldn't seem to move on and sleep well at night, just because she couldn't stop thinking about those notes that could lead her to the answer that would satisfy her about her sister's death.

I thought to myself, I'll probably continue retrieving the rest of it by myself since I started this in the first place.