"Show forgiveness, Enjoin kindness, Avoid Ignorance." [Qur'an, 7:199]

Enjoy! 

"Get out my seat."

Syeda calmly continued eating her salmon sushi in the cafeteria, munching quietly, taking her sweet time as the high school girls stood next to her waited for her to respond.

"I wasn't asking. I said move!" The girl speaking, Sephora, was a tall black-haired willowy figure with purple eyes, exaggerated eyeliner, and an unforgiving snarl. She lifted a hand to roughly shove Syeda out her seat, while the girls who flanked her on either side looked on disdainfully, being careful to mirror their leader. Syeda, eyes still on her food, headscarf arranged perfectly, simply brought up her own hand to take hold of the girl's wrist-

Suddenly, a voice froze them both.

"Sephora, leave her alone. What's your problem?"

It was a guy. That boy with honey-coloured hair who quietly sat at the back of every class, finishing his classwork in the first ten minutes and reading a book for the rest of the hour. Even the robo teachers (the replacement to human teachers schoolkids had had for the last decade) didn't bat an electric eyelid, so convincingly was he scholarly and studious.

Not a rebel. He bothered no one, and no one bothered him.

'So why is he interfering?' Syeda's forehead creased in thought.

She was about to speak up, when speedy-tongue Sephora beat her to it.

"It has nothing to do with you." She huffed. But unloaded her troubles anyway. "I sit here everyday, have for like the last four years, with Gwen and Priya, and then I come up and see she took our seats on purpose! OUR seats! What's her problem?! Why does she always have to be a such a-"

Frank, the boy who'd interfered, put up a hand and interrupted with a scathing 'That's enough!"

Syeda looked as unbothered as ever and continued chewing, having just added some wasabi sauce to her meal. Frank sighed; why did girls have to be so difficult. Especially Sephora and her crew. They were all going to graduate in less than a year, and they were acting like it was still Reception.

"Get lost guys." He snarled. "Act your flipping age before I tell the Prom committee how exactly you plan to become Prom Queen. I'm sure they'd be very interested in how you do things."

The girls hissed like vampires that had just been exposed to light, and hurriedly scurried away, but not without giving Frank a selected assortment of death glares, whispering furiously, and Gwen, the East Asian one, brandishing a finger.

Syeda acted as if nothing happened. Frank raised an eyebrow.

A tense silence ensued, during which Syeda had eyes only for her meal. And her chewing.

Finally, he heard her voice. "Don't expect me to thank you."

Outside, it wasn't hard for her to appear unbothered (just her resting witch face would do), but inside, Syeda was a little uneasy. What did this guy want?

"I just think...." Frank looked at the retreating gang, thoughtfully, and a bit worried. He looked back at Syeda. "That us nerds should stick together." He grinned.

"Is that so?" Syeda mused out loud. She stood up, using an embroidered napkin to gently dab at her mouth as he waited for her to speak. She then picked up her lunch tray and emptied it in a nearby bin, placed the grey tray on the adjacent metal rack for used trays, and came back to her bag and belongings, still on her lunch bench.  Frank's arms were crossed, eyebrow raised. 

He wasn't used to waiting for people.

She slung her bag strap gracefully onto her shoulder, and then her lapis green eyes suddenly, finally flashed up to meet his. They narrowed, her irises appearing steely and foreboding. "I would recommend you abstain from interfering in my affairs next time. I don't wish to hear your voice again. Do I make myself clear?"

Frank snorted out loud, whilst simultaneously sputtering a laugh. He began to shake his head. He couldn't believe this gi-

"What's going on here, guys?!" An eager voice popped up next to him. They both turned their heads to see who dared interrupt what Frank admitted had sadly become a wild-west, dusty desert style verbal showdown.

A tuft of black, loosely curly hair appeared near them both, and laughing dark eyes in a small, tan face. Syeda rolled her eyes. Frank looked hopelessly amused despite himself. 

It was Elyka, the school's vivacious chipmunk of a student. Since every student in Sixth Form took three subjects, Elyka did Politics, Law (both same as Frank) and Philosophy. Apparently, to her delight, she got the highest in her year in all (as well scoring highest on the teachers' 'to-adopt-as-a-pet' list, some students passed around). She was a Philipino, and it was a truth universally acknowledged that Asians were just competitive in a way that others weren't. The school had learned to accept that with the appearance of their most vivacious, hardworking, but also eagerly friendly student  a few years ago. There was barely a friendship circle in the school in which Elyka didn't dip in and out of whenever she wanted, like a well-wishing, companionable (if a bit bizarre) fairy. 

In this case, she'd heard some students whispering about a fight between Sephora, Frank, and Syeda. She had to know what this was about, if only to spread the most truthful version around instead of the twisted, gossipy one, she told herself. And also to please her insatiable curiousity.

Alas, she was too late; the commotion was over. At least she could see its dying embers, eh.

Despite his reluctant smile, Frank lifted an unimpressed eyebrow and looked down at the short person whose head met just below his shoulder. 

His gaze flicked back to Syeda again. "Clear you are, m'lady. No help. No aid. Not even a wandering, insolent glance of camaraderie. It appears I am to be your servant even in the matter of not being your servant." The corners of his mouth had clearly curled upwards, and there was a twinkling mirth in his eyes.

Syeda growled internally. He was mocking her!

"Just go." She shooed him impatiently.

He shrugged, still smiling like a man who'd just won money, and walked away, magicking a book out of seemingly nowhere and reading it absorbedly as his tall, lanky self exited the cafeteria. Elyka watched the proceedings sharply, her small eyes turning downright beady as her gaze flitted between the two figures. What was going on here? A fight over the reclusive nerd helping the school's bogeywoman? It was no secret some of the new year 7s were scared shitless of Syeda and her reputation. Who would ever publicly smile her way, let alone help her? They'd be a foolish do-gooder. Syeda's reputation, like ink, would only irrevocably stain whoever came near. In the eyes of the school anyway.

Abruptly noticing Syeda beginning to glare viciously at her, she swiftly chirruped a goodbye to her (not wanting to be around her for too long) and hopped away.

Syeda looked at the blondie-brownie boy as he left, eyes narrowed. She didn't remember his name. The literary nerd. Shakespeare's apprentice, some called him. He'd made his way out of his comfort zone to 'help' her.... Syeda pondered.

What a fool. He didn't need to step in to speak to them. Talking to the school's empty-headed was like trying to speak to a brick wall. Or a lump of mud.

If it was up to Syeda, the unintelligent wouldn't be allowed into school. They would be taught to read, write, basic maths as a life skill, and fast-tracked to whatever career they had in mind.

People of different types should be put into their groups from the start, to do what they're best at, Syeda had long decided. Not pitted together like a colourful zoo of varying creatures all being made to do the same thing. That way, she also wouldn't have to deal with, let alone confront people with the brains of a boiled egg on a daily basis.

Luckily, she'd cultivated her reputation well enough for most of them to not dare come near her. She smiled sharply at that, gratified. Her efforts always paid off.

Syeda got up, packed her stuff, and though it annoyed her perfectionist's eye, left surrounding rubbish left by others where it was (why pick it? Schools use taxpayers' money, they could use it for something right for once). Since she was done for the day, being fortunate enough to have no more lessons in today's timetable, she decided to make her way home. Hopefully no one would bother her again. Since final exams were finally becoming a reality, the desperate were pursuing the academic and well-prepared like headless chickens, begging at their feet for salvation.

They were wishing to be rid of their troubles. By perpetually avoiding them, so was she.

That's how she had always liked to be. Herself.

Untouchable.