It started like any other afternoon. The sun hung lazily above Allen High, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Mia was walking toward the library, arms full of books, her thoughts drifting between dreams and diaries, locked doors and silent ghosts.
And Henry, always Henry.
She smiled to herself just thinking about him.
But that smile dropped the moment she stepped into the library hallway. Because there, leaning against the wall like she belonged in a magazine, was Hilda, perfect, confident, and draped over Henry.
Mia stopped mid-step.
Hilda's laughter rang like a bell. Too loud and too practiced. Her hand rested on Henry's arm, fingers trailing far too long, far too familiar.
Henry didn't seem to notice or maybe he didn't care.
Mia couldn't hear what they were saying. She didn't have to.
Hilda tilted her head, hair falling over one shoulder as she said something that made Henry chuckle.
Then she stepped closer, way too close. And for a moment, Mia saw red.
Mia turned around and walked away, heart racing, fists clenched at her sides. She didn't even realize how far she'd walked until she reached the empty art room.
She slammed the books onto a table, breathing heavily. ''Why did it hurt so much?"
She wasn't even mad at Henry. Not really.
She was mad at herself—for feeling like she was never enough. For being weird, for seeing ghosts and detecting lies that could drift them apart. For never being like Hilda, who could flirt and flip her hair and make boys smile like that.
Tears stung her eyes, but she wiped them away. No, she wouldn't cry.
Back at the library, Henry stepped away from Hilda.
"I should go," he said, reaching for his phone.
Hilda blocked him. "Why? You just got here."
"I told Mia I would meet her," he said.
"She can wait," Hilda replied, inching closer. "You deserve someone who is worth you, Henry. Someone who actually fits your world."
Henry raised an eyebrow. "You think that's you?"
She smiled. "I know it is."
She leaned in, lips brushing the air. And Henry, without hesitation stepped back.
"Don't," he said firmly.
Hilda's smile faltered. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not interested. And because there's someone else."
Her lips thinned. "Mia?"
Henry didn't answer. He didn't have to.
"You're making a mistake," Hilda said sharply. "You could have anyone, and you choose her?"
Henry's eyes narrowed. "I chose her. And I don't need anyone to approve."
He turned and walked away, leaving Hilda glaring at his back.
Mia was still in the art room, brushing tears off a sketch when the door opened.
Henry stepped in.
"Mia"
"I saw you," she said quickly, standing up. "In the hallway With Hilda, what was that?"
Henry paused. "You mean when I was telling her I wasn't interested?"
Mia looked down, embarrassed. "I thought…"
"That she was trying to break us up?" he said gently. "Yeah. She was."
Mia bit her lip. "She's perfect. She's everything I'm not."
Henry crossed the room and stopped in front of her.
"You're right."
She blinked, stunned.
"She's not like you. Because you don't pretend. You don't impress anyone. You're honest and brave and stubborn. You don't fit into anyone's world because you build your own. That's why I…"
He paused.
"What?" Mia whispered.
Henry leaned closer, voice quiet. "That's why I care about you so much."
She didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Because the next moment, Henry's hand was on her cheek—gentle, warm.
And then, he kissed her. Soft at first, then deeper like a promise.
Mia closed her eyes, her hands clinging to the fabric of his shirt. The world melted away. The fear, lily, the doubt. All gone.
There was only one.
Only Henry.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless and smiling, Henry rested his forehead against hers.
"Next time," he said, "just ask me."
Mia smiled. "Next time, just tell me."
Later that night, Hilda sat in her room, scrolling through social media.
And paused when she saw a photo.
Someone had taken it from outside the art room through the glass door.
It showed Mia and Henry kissing.
Hilda's hands curled around her phone.
"Fine," she whispered. "Let the little witch have her fairytale. I and Carl are not over with her yet. It's just for a short period of time."
She stood slowly, walking to her desk.
She opened a drawer and pulled out a folded slip of paper.
On it, a name. 'Carl'.
The sun had begun to sink below the rooftops, casting the school grounds in a soft golden hue. Most of the students had already left, but Mia lingered near the back courtyard where the trees swayed gently in the breeze. She leaned against the railing, watching the sky shift colors like a slow-burning fire.
Footsteps approached behind her.
"Figured I would find you here," Henry said, carrying two bottled sodas. He offered one with a crooked smile. "You look like someone who needed sugar and bad decisions."
Mia took it, smiling. "And you look like someone who makes them."
He raised an eyebrow. "You wound me."
They sat on the stone bench together, sipping quietly. For a moment, there was only the rustle of wind and the distant chatter of students heading home.
Mia broke the silence. "Do you ever feel like... you're the only one who doesn't fit into your own family?"
Henry chuckled without humor. "All the time."
She looked at him sideways. "Tell me about them."
He hesitated, tapping his fingers against the bottle. "My dad... Professor Charles. He's brilliant. Respected. Terrifying. Everything in our house is in its place. Even us."
"What about your mom?"
"She passed away when I was young," he said, eyes distant. "She was kind. Soft. I remember her humming while she watered the flowers. My father never plays music."
Mia turned toward him. "Do you have any siblings?"
A beat of silence.
"No," Henry said quietly, eyes locked on the ground. "Only child. Unfortunately."
Mia tilted her head slightly, sensing something tighten in him. "You sure about that?"
He forced a laugh. "Why, you think you'd have heard of a more charming version of me?"
Mia didn't press, though she felt the lie ripple through the air like static.
Instead, she nodded. "I have both my parents, but... sometimes I feel like I'm living in a house full of strangers. They don't really understand what's going on with me. They think I'm imagining things."
"Maybe they're scared to believe it's real," Henry said softly. "Sometimes it's easier to pretend the storm isn't coming."
They sat in silence again, but this time, it was warm. Not heavy.
Mia leaned back and looked up at the sky. "What would you be doing if you weren't tied to your dad's empire?"
Henry looked at her, a flicker of relief in his smile. "I'd have a tiny cabin somewhere quiet. Grow my own food. Write terrible poetry. Maybe raise animals."
"Animals?"
"Don't judge the animals."
She laughed. "I would travel. Disappear for a while. See places where nobody knows my name. Be completely honest with strangers and completely invisible to the rest of the world."
"I like that," he said. "You want honesty, even if it's fleeting."
She turned to him, eyes searching. "And you?"
"I want peace," he admitted. "But I don't think I know what that feels like anymore."
Their eyes held.
And for a moment, the secrets didn't matter. Just the closeness. Just the ache of two people trying to understand each other in a world that constantly lied to them.
Even if one of them was lying right now.
The Allen High library was nearly empty by the time the final bell rang. Most students had already filtered out, chasing freedom and fresh air. But Elise stayed behind, nestled deep in a corner between the psychology and history sections. She liked the quiet. Liked the way the dust danced in the sunlight, like old stories still trying to be read.
She was halfway through a textbook on cognitive behavior when she heard a soft rustling.
She paused, frowning.
"Probably just the air vents," she murmured, brushing her hair back and flipping the page.
But the sound came again. Not mechanical—more like the soft glide of fingers across book spines. Like someone was walking down the aisle beside her.
"Elise..."
Her head snapped up but she saw no one.
The voice was barely above a whisper, but it was so clear. So familiar, like it had been said in her ear.
She stood slowly, peering down the rows of shelves. Her footsteps echoed as she moved, heart picking up speed.
"Elise... help her."
The voice again—this time closer, behind her.
She turned, fast and froze.
A girl stood at the end of the row. Pale skin. Long dark hair. Eyes too sad for someone so young. Her school uniform was outdated—different from what students wore now—but the Allen crest was unmistakable.
"Elise?" the girl asked softly.
Elise took a step back. "Who... who are you?"
The girl's head tilted. "You're Mia's friend. You believe her."
Elise's throat tightened. "Lily?"
The girl didn't answer. She just nodded toward a thick blue book halfway down the shelf.
"Page 237," she whispered.
Then she was gone.
No footsteps. No sound. Just empty air where she'd been standing.
Elise ran trembling fingers along the spines until she found the book: Theories of Consciousness in Modern Science.
With hesitant fingers, she opened it to page 237.
There was a small slip of paper tucked inside. A page torn from a journal.
He says I'm evolving. That soon I won't need to sleep or eat or feel. But what's left if I don't feel? What's left of me?
The handwriting was the same as in Mia's notes.
Lily.
Elise backed away slowly, heart pounding, the world around her suddenly sharp and cold.
She believed Mia now without question.
And something told her… they were running out of time.