Sandrone doesn't need friends.
Her day begins at her doting fathers side; she makes them breakfast, and on the occasion that he wakes earlier, Alain does instead.
Every morning before she leaves for school, when he has yet to retreat into garage work, he kisses her forehead and pats her cheeks, murmuring a ‘goodluck, my clockwork princess’.
She has few memories, blurred by age and overwritten by easy affection, of his struggle when she was young.
How unsure he'd been of every decision made, his shaking hands that only seemed to regain their strength when clutching a wrench and bending over some project for a week, hurtful words spoken in moments of weakness.
She pays them no heed. Not when his love for his dear daughter is so natural by now. Her only hope is that nickname, too, can be wiped with age.
Sandrone doesn't need friends.
A crowd gathers around her even before she steps through her class door.
“Sandrone, Sandrone!” Unfamiliar voices coo like an unending chorus. “Did you do the work last night? Is it okay if I check it against my own? Please, Sandrone!”
No, she says, again and again. Do it yourself, there's no point in only copying.
That does not deter the strangers, they only press harder.
She is not one to back down, but their pleas ring in her ears. And thus, she starts coming later.
Inelegant, she knows, but ah, that is what it means to be revered.
It does not stop the song, but the bell for the first lesson cuts it to a bearable length.
Sandrone doesn't need friends.
There is more space dedicated to stuffed toys than to her on a very large bed. A grey-furred cat curls beside her head when she sleeps, costly satin and silk adorn the plush mattress.
Though, often, slumbering is hard, she curls with her phone and keeps herself busy until dawn breaks through.
There is much to learn through streaming platforms. Mechanics, studying ahead of her syllabus, and (ashamedly) videos of cute kittens.
When she tires of that, she writes. And when words stop scratching her itch, she drinks tea.
Sandrone doesn't need friends. She is surrounded at every moment.
The top student, the student body president, the head of the science club – her schedule is packed, and distinctly not lonely.
“A social calendar, not a student one.” Alain brings up once. “Something you want to do with friends.”
“I want to watch a film with you.” Sandrone hums. “Are you not my friend?”
“I am your dad first.” His lips curl wryly, a sullen look dancing in his watery blue eyes. “Which one?”
“This one about a–”
But sometimes, Sandrone thinks she'd like to have one.
Her father raises her with movies. Moving pieces of art, where she witnesses the beauty of romance and friendships.
An ode to their homeland.
The one thing, despite her talents and knowledge, all the wisdom in the world, she could never begin to fathom.
They watch the Titanic for the umpteenth time. Rose's monologue of viewing her life as if she'd already lived it, the feeling of standing on the edge of a precipice, hoping someone would pull her back all while knowing there is no one, only feels realer with every passing birthday.
Romance is overrated and overwhelming, but she, too, wishes there was someone to face the edge of the cliff with her. Pulling her away from it…well, she could bear that by herself.
Hmm...sandbina wip wip wip. I need motivation to finish, but I swear I will!
