Friendship
- Edward Kwan
- May 16
- 5 min read
Updated: May 20
I always dreaded group days at school. It was not that the others were cruel — just that they already had people. Friends who whispered secrets during break, who saved each other seats at lunch, who noticed when someone was missing. I was never that person.
So when Miss Chan read out our groupings while we were on the way to the animal shelter, I felt the familiar tightness return to my chest, the kind that made it hard to breathe without it catching in my throat. I kept my eyes glued to the view zipping by, pretending to be non-chalant.
“Zara, Hannah, Miles… and Ivy,” she said.
My name drifted into the air like it had lost its place. I glanced up and gave a small wave. Zara responded with a polite smile before turning back to her best friend’s whispered joke. Hannah barely noticed, and Miles was already fiddling with his phone.
“Guess we’re a group now,” Zara remarked breezily.
“Sure,” I replied, but even I could hear how small my voice sounded.
I looked out the window of the coach. The others chatted across the aisle, and their laughter bounced past me like I was made of glass.
The shelter greeted us with a riot of barking, the musty scent of straw and disinfectant clinging to the air. Dogs of all shapes and sizes poked their noses through the bars as our class flooded into the building, excitement crackling all around.
Zara rushed towards a golden retriever pup, squealing with delight. Miles had already found two boys from another group and was taking exaggerated selfies beside a greyhound. Hannah trailed after them, smiling at a beagle.
“Where are we going first?” I asked, trailing behind.
“Just follow us!” Hannah replied without turning around.
I did, though they barely noticed. I tried to join in, pointing out a sleepy bulldog and laughing politely at Zara’s comment about a chihuahua wearing a jumper. But with every step, I felt more like a shadow, flickering at the edge of their attention.
They began to drift, each pulled towards animals or conversations that did not include me. I paused beside a corkboard, pretending to read a flyer, but no one waited. No one looked back.
Eventually, I stopped pretending. My legs carried me down a quiet corridor, away from the noise and the swirl of groups that never quite made room for me.
At the far end of the hallway, partly hidden behind a mop cart and an old crate, was a small enclosure. Inside, curled like a comma, lay a black dog with eyes that mirrored how I often felt: guarded, still, and tired of being misunderstood.
The label on his cage read: Shadow – male, timid, 2 years old.
I crouched in front of him. He did not move or bark, just lifted his head enough to look at me. Something about the stillness between us felt familiar — as though he, too, had long grown used to being overlooked.
“Hi,” I whispered. “I’m Ivy. I think… I think we’re kind of the same.”
His ear twitched. I let the silence stretch between us like a soft blanket.
“I know what it’s like,” I continued, my voice low and steady. “To watch everyone else laugh and fit together like puzzle pieces, while you sit on the side and wonder if you ever belonged to the picture at all.”
A woman in a blue apron passed by and paused. “He’s gentle,” she said kindly. “He just needs someone who sees past the silence.”
I nodded. “I’m good at silence.”
I sat cross-legged, arms wrapped around my knees. For the first time that day, I did not feel like I had to perform.
I told him things I had not said out loud in months — how my best friend moved away, how lunch breaks had grown too quiet, how I smiled so much my cheeks hurt just to feel visible. His eyes followed me closely now. He did not flinch when I reached out. He simply watched.
A shadow passed over us — soft footsteps, gentle and familiar.
Liam.
He was quiet, like me, and he was always sketching, always lingering on the edges of our class’s noisy circles.
He sat beside me without a word, pulling a sketchpad from his coat pocket. His pencil traced careful lines, and when I glanced, I saw Shadow’s form appearing on the page.
“He’s hard to draw,” Liam murmured.
“He’s beautiful, though,” I replied.
Liam nodded. “That’s why I’m trying.”
Shadow crept closer. His nose touched the bars where Liam and I sat. Slowly, delicately, he sniffed our fingers — and stayed.
The minutes passed gently, as though they belonged to another world. Liam fed Shadow a treat from his pocket, which the dog accepted with surprising care. We sat in stillness, no longer needing to fill the air with words.
“He trusts you,” Liam said.
I looked down at Shadow, whose head now rested on his paws, eyes half-closed. “Maybe he just needed someone to stay long enough.”
Liam nodded slowly. “Sometimes that’s all it takes.”
When our teacher called for us to return to the coach, we stood together. Shadow lifted his head slightly, watching us leave. I paused, placing my hand softly against the cage.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For finding me today.”
I glanced at Liam. “You too.”
He smiled. It was a small smile — but honest.
The ride back felt different. I sat beside Liam, and although we said little, the silence no longer felt heavy. He gave me the finished sketch of Shadow, and I promised to keep it safe.
Later that week, I checked the shelter’s website. There he was — Shadow — in a photo with two children and a woman in a garden. His ears were perked up, and his tail was a dark blur of movement.
The caption read: Adopted. Finally home.
I smiled, touched by something both warm and aching. We had not said goodbye properly, but maybe we had not needed to.
That day, I learnt that friendship can be found in quietude — in the pause between words, in shared stillness, in a look that says, I see you.
I used to think I had nothing to offer, but Shadow had shown me otherwise. Liam had stayed. I had found, in a single unexpected day, the kind of friendship that does not demand to be loud to be real.
For once, I was not just included.
I was chosen.
Unlike previous model compositions which are more language driven, I wanted the idea to be the star. I've emboldened certain phrases and sentences to draw your attention to the emotional layering, to make it easier to follow Ivy's transformation. There's no melodramatics involved, and this form of nuanced writing can be challenging for students who are more used writing characters with loud or extreme outbursts of emotions.
The story subtly explores the social dynamics children often experience — the quiet exclusion that is not borne out of cruelty, but from established social bonds that leave some on the outside. It addresses the emotional landscape of loneliness in childhood without melodrama, offering a nuanced commentary on what it means to be unnoticed, and how quiet empathy can bridge the gap. |
This would also fit the following themes:
Changing for the better
A memorable incident
A lesson learnt
A blessing in disguise
A surprise
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