Without You

Lyra was used to hearing it all the time growing up — the propagated mantra of her conservative parents, who were more akin to some from a time when personal freedom and the liberty of choice were both optional to strive for; or even non-existent. The importance of family and continuing on their legacy was what her foolish and naive nine-year-old self had believed verbatim and what she used to guide the trajectory of all aspects of her life. It was also what made for her egregious façade of a personality (or rather lack of any), constituted in endless one-upmanship and wealth flaunting amid all her peers, with it reaching to the point of Lyra losing some of the few true friends she had made as a child — people her parents allowed her to befriend on exception in the first place. Even something as seemingly mundane yet equally important as her daily routine was strictly regulated by the despondent maids who worked for them. Despite the relative loneliness Lyra eventually faced going into fifth grade, both as a result of her conditioning and own repulsive nature, she managed to occupy her time by attending to her interests, although again under the ever-watchful eye of her parents; she was told that any esoteric or “demeaning” activities were deemed too dangerous, due to the possibility of them being used as methods of tarnishing her father’s reputation as a businessman with a model family. In truth, they were hobbies which were not utterly solitary or involving members only of her age and wealth group: activities for “normal people,” as her mother had described. As such, with all those factors operating in a debilitating tandem each day of her life, Lyra came to see the world through a bleak lens — she lived in a material wonderland, for a girl without any purpose in it all.

But it all changed when Alex came into her life. Their first meet — being the dismissive and rudimentary wave of hello at the beginning of the next school year — was far from perfect, and neither of them really wished to interact with the other much after that. Alex had transferred into her sixth-grade class from a school on the other side of the city and received the usual “new kid” treatment from his classmates, while Lyra herself did not seem to be too fazed by his bashful presence, only first seeing the boy as a means to an end. It wasn’t until their teacher, quite obviously driven by their pedagogical instinct (and personal dislike of Lyra and her troublesome nature,) decided to pair the two together in each of the new subjects requiring groups of two. Of course, for the first few weeks, nothing seemed to occur between either of them as they only discussed and exchanged information purely relevant to their academic tasks, the prospect of having someone to share a workload with being a reality Lyra had been forced to adapt to. Despite that, even after the first few days of their forced partnership, Lyra came to realise what kind of a person Alex truly was: whether it be the fervent look in his eyes when they simultaneously developed a solution to a difficult geometry problem during Math class or the cocked smile he bore when they saw their monthly project in Science putting all others to shame, it all spoke of someone led by a passion for living; a free spirit with a kindled fire for a bright future.

And, at first, she envied him so much for it. Lyra could not remember how it had felt to truly speak your mind and not act as those around you, those who “loved you” expected; she felt the boy often took his freedom to express himself with relative leniency for granted and carelessly uttered whatever came to mind. One day, she even had to step in and prevent Alex from being reprimanded by their History teacher after the boy objected to the unjust grades he’d doled out (despite the fact that their tutor had indeed been in the wrong when it came to marking the class’ tests). That pattern continued for some time, and Lyra slowly grew fond of her solemn duty to keep her partner in check, which was something she never thought she would feel for another, let alone a simple classmate...

Nevertheless, the duo’s assertive nature still found a way to clash with both their workflow and the strict disciplinary norms of the school. When faced with a given problem with an unclear consensus, it was usually resolved by either Lyra shifting into a quick exodus with an unceremonious pout, or Alex simply dissuading the tension with a roll of his eyes and a grating sigh. Both made for several detentions and written notices from the school, the latter of which — thankfully — never reached either of their parents as a result of the... questionable persuasion tactics employed by the preteens (Lyra’s uncanny ability to make dollar bills materialise in teachers’ front pockets and Alex’s more direct method of defending himself until whichever unfortunate member of the school faculty simply let him off with a warning).

As such, a rather uneventful half of the school year went by and the two slowly grew to bode well with one another, the disastrous conflicts between them becoming less and less frequent. Yet it wasn’t until one day, during a seemingly boring Literature class — when they’d discussed “Robinson Crusoe” and the homogeneity of money in the modern world — that Lyra’s entire perception and impression of the boy shifted:

“It doesn’t matter if you have all the money in the world. If there’s no one you can share it with, then... it’s just pointless,” Alex had stated, inciting a sharp reaction from the class out of his seemingly foolish conviction. Everyone, even their supposedly erudite teacher, either snickered or looked on with incredulity at the publicly shunned boy.

Everyone except Lyra. She had watched him closely, having sat at the opposite end of the room in silence. Something irked the girl about the bold statement, but she wasn’t sure what. Yet the pang of empathy still birthed itself in the depths of her heart; it was a semblance of the long-forgotten little girl inside her — the one driven by love and care for others, the one that didn’t place material possessions on a higher pedestal than happiness itself.

The one that had hope.

That feeling ate up Lyra, clawing at her conscience the days following. She couldn’t take it, and the only place where she knew to uncover answers to her questions were in the one who evoked them in the first place. She decided to confront the boy during recess on a snowy Friday, when they had no classes together, in the confines of the locker hall. At first, Alex was abrasive to Lyra’s questioning, deciding to heed no mind to her spontaneous inquiries. Yet Lyra’s morbid curiosity surpassed any existing care for Alex’s vivid exasperation. She had wanted to know why, when it seemed as if her partner had finally learnt his lesson when it came to speaking out of turn given the trouble it had caused both of them, he still decided to voice his unorthodox belief. Of course, Alex retaliated with a question himself, asking why Lyra cared for something so minor he had said and had happened days prior.

“Because... because I think I get you,” she replied. “I know you won’t believe me. I mean, this is comin’ from the girl whose parents could buy this freaking school a hundred times if they wanted to. But I just felt kinda... kinda...” A whisper then barely escaped her lips, “...bad for you...”

Alex had looked shocked at first, not knowing how to respond to her provocative confession. But after realising the reputation of the person whom it came from, closing his locker, he retorted, “There’s nothing to it. You just wanna feel better about yourself by using me as your guinea pig. Well, guess what: I won’t let you. I’m goin’ to class.” The boy set off, and Lyra bore a defeated expression, her sincere intentions masqueraded by the error of her past actions.

Then, halfway to his destination, he stopped, turning to face Lyra.

“But just for the record, I... I get what you mean. Even though I don’t trust you.”

Those were the last words they exchanged among each other for that week, and both were left to ponder upon the meaning of their relationship.