Chapter 2 — The Only Boy in the English Department
Morning came too quickly.
Shalom cracked his eyes open to the blaring sound of his alarm. His body felt heavy, as if every muscle had been weighed down with sandbags during the night.
The fever from yesterday lingered in his bones, stubborn and unwilling to let go. He sat up slowly, a dull ache gnawing at his temples, his throat dry.
The sunlight streaming through his curtains made him flinch. He raised a hand instinctively to shield his eyes.
The brightness wasn't that blinding — it was just giving him an unbearable feeling. It burned against his skin in a way that made no sense. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple; it was not from the heat, but from something deeper and unknown to him. Something is wrong with me, wrong.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "Not again." as the headache was back. He left for the bathroom.
He splashed cold water on his face, hoping it would wash away the unease, but the discomfort clung to him like a second skin.
His reflection in the mirror looked pale despite having a dark complexion, his lips faintly dry. If not for the faint definition of his six-pack abs, he might have mistaken himself for a sickly patient.
Still, he forced himself to get ready. College wasn't going to wait for his mysterious illness to pass.
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Downstairs, his mom called from the kitchen. "Shalom, eat something before you go!"
"I'll eat on the way!" he lied, grabbing his bag. The smell of fried eggs should have tempted him, but instead, his stomach twisted with an odd sense of rejection. The thought of food felt wrong to him. He wasn't hungry for some reason since he woke up this morning.
He stepped outside, and the sun hit him like a slap. His knees almost buckled. The air was fresh, the morning bustling with neighbors chatting and children chasing each other, but all he felt was weakness spreading through his body. His skin prickled, he felt his head spinning, and he had to steady himself against a wall for a moment.
"Get it together, Shalom," he whispered, breathing heavily.
His college — Holy Star Trainee College — wasn't close to his hometown. Due to financial reasons, he is a day student, meaning he will not be living in the school dormitory. So he had to walk from Dave town to Ho— Municipal.
It was a long two-hour walk from Dave Town to Ho Municipa and 25 minutes by car or motor, where the campus stood. Normally, he enjoyed the walk.
The rhythm of his steps with music gave him time to think, to replay anime scenes in his head or draft story ideas he never dared share.
But today, every step felt like dragging chains. The sun pressed down on him like an enemy, burning away whatever little strength he had left.
By the time he reached the gates of Holy Star, his shirt clung to his back with sweat. His vision blurred for a moment, but he blinked hard and steadied himself. No one needed to see how bad he felt.
Meanwhile, inside the English Department building, the atmosphere shifted. His classmates, nine girls in total, were already scattered around the room, chatting in small groups, laughter echoing softly.
"Sister Gladys, look at the new phone my brother bought me," Deny said, showing off her new phone, Spark 40c.
Awwww... The other girls show excitement.
Shalom is the only boy in the department. Which made the girls often tease him about it, sometimes playfully, sometimes sincerely. Over time, they had grown to treat him less like a classmate and more like a younger brother — someone they could fuss over, scold, or confide in without hesitation.
"There he is!" Moud called out, waving. "Our Husband has arrived!"
Shalom forced a smile, lifting his hand in a small wave. He made his way to his usual seat, near the back by the window, where the sunlight filtered in.
The moment he sat down, he regretted it. The rays burned against his skin like hot needles. He quickly pulled his chair back into the shade, hoping no one noticed his discomfort.
"Shalom, you look pale," another Patient said, frowning as she leaned closer. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied too quickly. His voice cracked, betraying his lie.
They exchanged looks but didn't press further. To them, Shalom had always been a little strange — quiet, withdrawn, often lost in his own thoughts. He wasn't unfriendly, but he rarely spoke unless spoken to. His introverted nature made him seem younger than his years, someone in need of looking after.
At seven thirty.
Class began soon after Mr. Simon strode in, his thick glasses perched on his nose and a stack of books under his arm. "Good morning, class. Today we'll be analyzing Romantic poetry, so I hope you all came prepared."
Snickers rippled through the room. All the girls are looking at Shalom.
Shalom opened his notebook, his pen trembling slightly in his hand. His head still throbbed, and each time sunlight brushed against his skin, his stomach lurched. Words swam on the page in front of him. He clenched his jaw, trying to focus on Mr. Simon's lecture.
But then it hit him.
The faintest sound — a heartbeat. Not his, but Someone else's. The rhythmic thump echoed in his ears, soft but clear, like a drum played far away. His eyes darted around. The room was quiet except for the scratch of pens and the drone of Mr. Simon's voice. Yet he could hear it — steady, alive, pulsing.
Shalom's throat tightened. His tongue felt dry, his body restless. He gripped his pen until his knuckles whitened.
"What's happening to me…?" he whispered under his breath.
No one heard him.
For the rest of the lecture, he sat stiff in his chair, torn between fear and confusion. The girls around him scribbled notes, Mr. Simon recited stanzas, and the world went on as usual. Only Shalom felt the shift — a strange awareness gnawing at his insides, a new sense he didn't understand.
When class finally ended, the girls gathered around him, chattering. One handed him a snack, and another teased him about being too quiet again. They laughed, called him their "husband," and carried on. Asking how he spent the weekend and other stuff.
Shalom smiled faintly, trying to play along. But inside, he was trembling.
Because beneath the laughter, beneath the chatter, he could still hear it — the steady rhythm of their heartbeats.
And for the first time in his life, the sound made him hungry.
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