The moon is lovely

The fluorescent hum of the empty classroom was a welcome reprieve from the pre-class chatter that would soon engulf it. Helene settled into the second row, her notebooks splayed open, a flimsy shield against the knowledge she hadn't bothered to acquire. Her mind, still buzzing from a night spent scrolling through Instagram, was a million miles from the upcoming lesson.

"Good morning," a voice chirped, followed by the scrape of a chair as a classmate took the seat beside her. "You study hard, don't you?"

Helene offered a noncommittal hum, her attention already drifting. Soon, the room filled, the din of conversation rising to a crescendo that rendered her earbuds useless. Focus became an impossible dream, and before she knew it, the lesson began.

Hours later, the offer came, as it often did. "Helene, you wanna hang out later? We're going to Karaoke." A group of classmates, faces bright with anticipation, hovered expectantly.

"I'm good, thank you," she replied, the words a well-rehearsed dismissal. Their grumbled sarcasm, "What a shame!" followed by a casual, "Alright then, see you tomorrow morning," confirmed her suspicion: they hadn't truly wanted her to join. The sting was familiar, a dull ache that she had long learned to ignore.

As soon as classes ended, she made a swift exit from the university, the desire to be home, away from the pretense, a powerful pull.