The dining hall of Grimrose Academy stirred with the muted clatter of cutlery and the low hum of morning voices. Candles flickered above, their flames licking at the shadows pooled between the long oak tables. Amber Ashford sat at the far end, hands folded neatly around her bowl of porridge, as though keeping still might render her invisible.
The scrape of chairs and polite laughter flowed around her, but she felt outside it all—watching, listening.
And then, across the long expanse of the table, she saw him. Elias Moreau. His dark hair caught the morning light that filtered in through the tall windows, and for the briefest moment his gaze lifted from his plate and found hers.
Amber's breath caught. His eyes were sharp, almost cutting, yet not unkind. She held the stare longer than she dared.
Elias frowned faintly, and with the softest, almost careless murmur, said to the boy beside him, "Strange how the silence lingers at that end of the table."
His companion chuckled, and Elias lowered his head again, tearing his bread. The dismissal stung more than if he had said nothing at all.
Heat prickled Amber's cheeks. She turned back to her porridge, spoon clinking against the bowl. To be seen, and then discarded, was somehow worse than being invisible.
---
Classes filled the morning.
History first, where chalk dust clung to the sleeves of Mr. Weasley black coat as he traced dates across the slate board, his voice a steady drone recounting battles that felt far away from the hush of Grimrose's halls. Then Arithmetic, the steady rhythm of numbers soothing but unremarkable.
By the time she reached Latin, Amber's mind was heavy with routine. Yet it was in the corridor after class that the monotony fractured.
Amber lingered, her satchel tugging against her shoulder, when she noticed two figures at the far end of the hall.
Ms. Rosary, the etiquette teacher, immaculate in pearl-gray silk, posture a perfect line. Beside her stood Mr. Graham, the Latin master, his cuffs stained faintly with ink. Their voices carried in clipped whispers, sharpened by tension.
"She asks too many questions," Ms. Rosary said, her tone smooth but edged. "Curiosity must be tempered. We cannot afford... disruptions."
Mr. Graham's reply was rougher, almost a growl. "Mara's shadow lingers in these halls. The last thing we need is another girl prying where she shouldn't."
Amber stiffened. The leather strap of her satchel bit into her palm. She edged backward, careful with her steps, terrified the echo of her shoes might betray her.
"She will learn obedience," Ms. Rosary concluded, her voice lowering further. "Or she will learn consequence."
Amber's pulse thundered in her ears. She fled down the stairwell, the words clinging to her like damp mist.
---
The gardens stretched before her in muted autumn splendor. Leaves curled brown and gold across gravel paths, while ivy climbed stubbornly over stone walls. Amber let the cool wind touch her face, desperate to shake the weight of what she had overheard.
She wandered until she nearly collided with another girl.
"Oh!" The stranger steadied her with a quick hand, then smiled. "You must be Amber, no? New faces at Grimrose are hard to miss."
Amber blinked. Few here had spoken to her at all, let alone with such warmth.
The girl was striking—tall, with long black hair that shimmered even in the pale light, and eyes dark as polished onyx. Her skin glowed a light brown against the cream of her blouse and dark pleated skirt. Where the other girls of Grimrose wore their uniforms stiffly, she wore hers as though it were made for her.
"I'm Dhani Chauhan," she said, her words flowing with the lilting music of an Indian accent, softened but still distinct. "I have seen you in the hallways, walking alone. You looked as if you wished to vanish."
Amber's lips parted, and to her own surprise, she spoke. "I—suppose that's not far from the truth." Her voice was soft, clipped in the deliberate tones of her upbringing. "I don't… fit easily."
Dhani tilted her head, studying her with bright curiosity. Then she laughed, not unkindly. "Nor do I. That makes two of us. Come, sit?" She gestured to a stone bench beneath a skeletal elm.
Amber hesitated only a heartbeat before following.
They sat. Dhani smoothed her skirt absently, bracelets at her wrist chiming softly. "My father brought me here when I was eight," she said, voice lighter now, though the words carried weight. "He shifted business from Delhi to London. New wife came soon after. She preferred me… far away. So boarding school."
Amber's brow furrowed. She whispered, "That's cruel."
Dhani gave a wry smile. "Perhaps. But it gave me this place, and I have learned to make homes where none are given." She leaned in slightly. "And what of you, Amber Ashford? Why Grimrose?"
Amber glanced at the gravel path, words trembling on her tongue. At last she managed, "My parents thought silence was a fault to be corrected. They sent me here to… refine me."
Dhani's gaze softened. "Silence is no fault. It is a strength. It means you see what others do not."
Amber looked at her, startled, and felt the tightness in her chest loosen. "No one has ever said that."
"Then they were blind," Dhani said simply.
Amber found herself smiling—faint, tentative, but real. "You make it sound so easy."
"Not easy," Dhani replied, her accent stretching the word into something gentler. "But possible. And sometimes, possibility is enough."
For the first time since her arrival, Amber laughed softly, the sound brief but unguarded.
Dhani's eyes lit. "There. Proof you are not made of stone."
---
By the time the bells tolled for supper, Amber felt something unfamiliar. Not the gnawing silence of being alone, nor the sharp edge of fear she carried from overheard whispers. Something else. Something softer.
As she rose from the bench, Dhani fell into step beside her, as if they had walked this path together for years.
For the first time since stepping through Grimrose's iron gates, Amber Ashford did not feel entirely unseen.
And yet, as the shadows stretched long across the gardens, the words she had overheard earlier returned to her—like the tolling of a distant bell.
Curiosity must be tempered. Mara's shadow lingers.
Amber swallowed hard, stealing a glance at Dhani's warm, unguarded smile. She wanted to believe in it, cling to it. But deep inside, the silence reminded her: at Grimrose, safety was never simple.
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