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School could always be a daunting experience for a child, and it was no different for little timid Tim. 'Timid Tim' never because an official nickname for the boy because , honestly, nobody took any notice of him. He was a mute and the majority of his classmates never bothered trying to talk to a boy who couldn't speak.
If somebody, for some reason, was looking for him, they would instantly be directed to the back of the library. There, behind a mountain of novels sat Tim, cross-legged on the floor, deeply engrossed in a book.
Books were like a shell for him, encased in each and every story that he had read. They almost formed a shield, hiding him from the reality of his disability. Yet, he seemed to like that. He would sit there with a small smile on him face, turning page after page, every hour after school until he had to go home.
It wasn't until the arrival of the new history teacher, when the cracks of his shield came to light. To say this woman was odd would've been an understatement. She was completely bizarre. It was a madness mingled with a certain charisma that allured every person she came into contact with. More often than not, Tim would catch her sitting in her room, chatting away to a teacher. People were simply drawn to her and Tim was no exception to this.
Tim kept his curiosity and infatuation to himself. Did his homework, did his study and generally stuck to that routine, never stepping out of line. While all the other students questioned the teacher's random changes in her style, he stayed silent. Partly because, well, he physically couldn't speak but also partly because he didn't wish to bother the woman. She received enough attention as it was, but that didn't stop him wondering why one day her hair, just reaching below her ear was suddenly sweeping across her shoulders the next. Besides when the students asked how, she just brushed aside their questions with a laugh and continued teaching.
It wasn't until the start of the next term when he struck an actual conversation with someone, and who else would it be but his infamous history teacher. Naturally, it wasn't Tim who initiated the conversation. He sat there in the library, almost breathing in the words of a book, when he was distracted by the screeching sound of a chair being dragged and a shadow being cast over the pages. Tim glanced up, slightly annoyed by the distraction to see his teacher staring down at him.
"Hello," she greeted. "what'cha got there."
Tim meekly raised the book from his lap and flashed her the cover. Robinson Crusoe.
"Ah Daniel Defoe! Fantastic writer if you ask me, though never an easy person to talk to. Wouldn't stop yapping about British Imperialism and trade."
Tim smiled in response. The woman was constantly making jokes about meeting historical people. Only last week had she mentioned washing Michelangelo's brushes while painted the Sistine Chapel.
"Bit like you it seems," she joked, causing Tim to break from his train of thought.
He quickly drew of a notebook and pen and scribbled the word "Sorry" on it.
"Don't be. Can you sign? I would be a lot easier than trying to write all the time."
Tim nodded happily and raised his fist to sign a 'yes'.
"So you like books?" It was more of a statement than a question.
"Love them." he signed enthusiastically. "I love how every story takes me somewhere new, somewhere different without moving from the spot. All I need is a book and this." He then tapped this side of his head.
Their conversation ran until it was time for Tim to go home.
That's how it began, every so often the pair would sit in the library and exchange stories, either fiction or non-fiction. Over time other students began to join in until an unofficial book club had been established.
As the term was drawing to a close, Tim felt sad that he would be separated from his book club and newly-found friends for a little while. As much as he enjoyed the time off, he would dearly miss the time he spent in the library, but after a few promises from other students to meet up over the holidays, the sadness slowly ebbed away.
The final day was reaching an end and his fellow readers began to dissipate until only he and the teacher remained. She sat at a table, hunched over a book writing notes into the final pages with a solemn expression, before snapping it shut and morphing back into her usual joyous self. Tim smiled at her and she returned the gesture before suddenly leaping up and handed the book over to him.
"Think of it as an end of term present," she said, turning to the door. Tim watched her leave but as she pressed her hand against the wood she looked back.
"Tim I think you're going to be just fine." Then she signed a goodbye and left.
Confused, Tim flipped over the book revealing the title, 'The Time Machine' by H.G. Wells and opened up the final pages, reading the message she wrote in.
"Always watching the turn of time, but never a part of it. A time travellers curse."
He never saw her again.