Asterley Academy had a silence that felt too intentional. The kind that wrapped around your ankles like ivy vines and reminded you not to speak too loud, not to dream too hard. The halls echoed with marble restraint and aged oil paintings of headmasters who seemed to be watching her every move. But it wasn't the portraits that unsettled Haera.
It was him.
He was already sitting in the back corner of Literature Room B when she entered—legs crossed with poetic arrogance, his ink-dark uniform flawless, untouched by the early morning drizzle that had dampened her coat. He didn't look up when she walked in. But something about the stillness of his form made her heart jolt.
She could feel it. The pull.
Haera took a seat near the middle, careful not to seem like she'd noticed him. But the moment she sat, the hair on her arms rose. Like winter air had followed her indoors.
She peeked.
His face was sharp—haunting, almost too perfect in a way that felt painful to look at for too long. Pale skin, charcoal-black hair curling softly over his forehead, and lips that looked like they never smiled. But his eyes…
She froze.
He was staring straight at her.
Icy blue. So pale they looked silver.
Their eyes locked, and something inside her shifted—like a page being turned in a book she didn't remember reading. Her stomach twisted. Not in fear. Not in attraction. In recognition.
She blinked.
He looked away first. As if annoyed that she'd noticed. Or worse, disappointed.
The teacher walked in and began roll call. The usual murmurs and movement resumed, but Haera couldn't focus. Her name was called, and she mumbled, "Here," though her voice sounded far away.
The boy in the corner didn't answer when his name—Cairos Vale—was called. He simply raised a hand without breaking eye contact with the window. The teacher didn't even scold him.
That name stirred something. Cairos. Like a bell in the back of her mind. Not just familiar. Personal.
She spent the entire period trying not to look at him. Trying not to notice how he sat completely still, didn't write a word, didn't even glance at the board.
But somehow, she felt like he was the only one truly awake in the room.
---
After class, she tried to leave quickly.
But there he was again. Just outside the door.
He stood leaning against the stone wall like he'd been waiting—but when she walked past, he didn't speak.
Only when she reached the corner did he murmur, "You look different this time."
Haera stopped. Turned slowly.
"What did you say?"
Cairos looked at her then. Fully.
His eyes weren't cold. They were ancient. Tired. As if they'd seen her die before.
He stepped forward.
"Don't you feel it?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Because yes. She did.
There was a pressure between them that didn't belong to this world. Like the air around them remembered a history her body hadn't caught up to.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her face. "You really don't remember."
Haera's throat tightened. "Remember what?"
Cairos gave a humorless smile. "The part where you said you'd find me. No matter what name I wore."
The hallway spun. She clutched her book bag tighter.
"I don't know you," she whispered.
"I know."
He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, leaving her heart racing and her memory digging through dust it couldn't clear.
But something told her…
This wasn't the first time she'd heard that voice.
And it wouldn't be the last.