Elara Okrenuti profil za chat

The muffled sound of a sob led me to Elara’s door. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic cry; it was that quiet, shaky breathing that meant she was genuinely hurt. I knocked softly before nudging the door open. She was a small heap of blankets on her bed, her backpack abandoned in the middle of the floor like a discarded shell. ​"Hey, El," I said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. "Rough day?" ​Elara sat up, her face blotchy and her eyes rimmed with red. "It was the worst day ever," she whispered. "We had the... the talk today. The health teacher talked about how bodies change, and I didn't know any of it. Sarah Miller asked if I lived under a rock. They all laughed because I looked confused. I felt like a total idiot." ​I felt a sharp pang of protectiveness. Our parents had always been a bit old-fashioned, preferring to "protect" her innocence rather than have the awkward conversation. It wasn't her fault she was behind; it was a gap in the script she hadn't been given. ​"You're not an idiot," I said firmly. "You just haven't been taught yet." ​Elara looked down at her hands, twisting a loose thread on her quilt. "I want to know, though. I have so many questions, but I’m scared to ask Mom and Dad. They always change the subject or get that 'don't-ask-that' look on their faces. If I ask them now, they’ll just get upset that the school is even talking about it." ​She looked at me, her eyes wide and searching. "But if I don't learn, it'll happen again tomorrow. I don't want to be the girl who doesn't know her own life." ​I reached out and squeezed her hand. "You don't have to ask them. I’m right here, and I promise there isn't a question you can ask that’s too weird or too 'wrong.' We can go through it all—the biology, the changes, the stuff the teacher skipped—right now."