A week had folded itself quietly around Amber Ashford since she first arrived at Grimrose Academy. The days moved with a measured pace, dictated by bells, strict timetables, and the watchful eyes of teachers. Yet within that rhythm, one thing had softened the edges of her solitude—Dhani.
At meals, Amber no longer hovered uncertainly at the edges of the dining hall. She knew that somewhere among the sea of uniforms and clattering cutlery, Dhani's dark eyes would seek her out, her hand lifting in a gentle beckon. That morning was no different.
"Amber," Dhani's voice carried lightly over the table, touched with her soft Indian accent. "Here, sit with me."
Amber exhaled, grateful for the anchor of her presence. She slid into the seat beside her, smoothing her skirt.
"You look as though you wrestled sleep itself," Dhani teased with a smile, buttering her bread.
Amber's lips curved faintly. "Mr. Graham and his endless conjugations may be to blame."
Dhani laughed—low, warm, like music in a place that knew little of it. "At least you retain some of it. I mix them so often he threatens to have me write them until dawn."
Amber stirred her tea, a ghost of amusement in her eyes. "He might enjoy that more than you."
The two shared a small laugh, quick and subdued amid the clamor of the hall. Amber still spoke little, but with Dhani she found herself daring to answer, to allow her thoughts to slip past her lips. For the first time in years, conversation no longer felt like an interrogation.
When Mrs. Whitmore rose at the high table and announced assembly, the hall quickly fell to silence. Amber lowered her gaze to her bowl, but inwardly her mind roamed, restless with thoughts unspoken.
---
The day unfolded through lessons, each one rigid and measured—History's weary recitations, Arithmetic's unforgiving figures, and Etiquette under Miss Rosary's sharp gaze, every movement of posture weighed and judged.
By afternoon, Amber drifted as if pulled by instinct into the library. It had become her quiet refuge, its high-arched windows veined with rain, its rows of spines whispering forgotten words.
While walking ahead towards the book shelves Amber thought to herself, "Books speak more kindly than people…they never ask you to smile or please them."
As she chooses a book from the shelf her gaze wanders past through shelves stopping on a figure surrounded by silence and peace .
There, as always, sat Jonas Whitlock. His pale hair caught the dim light, his hand moving steadily across the page of his leather journal. He did not look up at once, and Amber hesitated in the aisle, unsure if she dared disturb him.
But then his voice cut softly through the silence.
"You move like a shadow," he said, eyes lifting at last. His gaze was piercing, unblinking. "Do you prefer not to be seen, Amber Ashford?"
The sound of her name startled her. She straightened slightly, her hand still resting on the spine of a book.
"I… prefer not to be mistaken," she answered quietly, each word deliberate, clipped by her accent.
Jonas tilted his head, as though weighing the honesty of her reply. Then, a faint curve touched his lips—not quite a smile, but close enough to unsettle her.
"Perhaps," he murmured, returning his gaze to the page, "you see more than those who demand to be noticed."
Amber stood frozen, unsure what to do with the strange tremor in her chest. Before she could summon another word, the scratching of his quill resumed, shutting her out once more.
She withdrew into the stacks, heart quickened, his words echoing against her thoughts long after she left the room.
---
The garden breathed a different air that evening. Twilight had begun its slow descent, and the autumn leaves stirred in restless whispers. Amber wandered the gravel path, her eyes tracing the curling vines climbing the stone walls.
"Amber!" Dhani's voice called gently behind her. The girl came into view, her long black hair loose against her shoulders, her expression open and kind. "I thought I might find you here."
They walked together among the hedges, the damp scent of earth and foliage rising around them. After a while, Dhani's tone shifted, softer, more thoughtful.
"May I ask you something?"
Amber glanced at her, wary but patient. "If you must."
"Before here… before Grimrose," Dhani began carefully, "did you have many friends?"
Amber slowed her steps. For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy as stone. She lowered her eyes, watching the path beneath her shoes.
"There was one," she said at last, her voice subdued. "When I was ten. She understood me… truly. Not many did."
Her throat tightened, but she pressed on, each word falling like a stone in still water. "She died. An accident. Tragic." Amber's breath caught faintly. "After that, I… stepped back. From people. From all of it."
Dhani's gaze softened, though she said nothing, letting the quiet carry Amber's confession.
"My parents tried," Amber continued, a faint, bitter curve in her tone. "They'd push me toward their friends' children—spoiled, cruel things with their nasty little games. I could never… stomach them. So I kept apart. I learned it was easier to remain unseen."
Amber deeply exhaled, "A Single friend is heavier in the heart than a hundred strangers"
Her words faded into the rustle of the leaves. The lanterns flickered along the garden path, throwing long shadows across her face.
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then Dhani's hand brushed lightly against Amber's as they walked, a quiet gesture of solidarity.
"You are not unseen to me," Dhani said softly, her accent carrying warmth that seemed to sink beneath Amber's skin.
Amber swallowed hard, uncertain how to answer. But in the silence that followed, she felt—strangely, for the first time in years—that her solitude was no longer absolute.
Later, in her room, the candle flame wavered as the wind pressed against the window. Amber sat at her desk, the shadows long across the floor. Her thoughts drift back to her past life, a quiet glimpse of her childhood friend Serena appears in her mind. She shook her head to get the thoughts out of her mind and restrained herself from crying.
She whispered into the quiet:
"One true friend, lost. And yet… could another be waiting?
"
The Academy gave no answer, but she felt its walls lean closer, as though listening.