Morning light streamed through the dormitory windows like molten gold. Anaya blinked awake to the sound of bells tolling across the courtyard, each note long and deliberate, like the Academy itself exhaling.
Her roommate still hadn't arrived. The other bed was neatly made, untouched. Anaya couldn't decide if that relieved her or unsettled her.
She dressed quickly in the provided uniform: crisp navy blazer, white shirt, pleated skirt. The fabric felt heavier than her clothes at home, as though it carried the weight of expectation. She fastened her locket beneath the collar, hidden but close to her skin.
When she stepped outside, the courtyard buzzed with motion. Transfers hurried toward the East Wing, books tucked under their arms, laughter bouncing off stone walls. Anaya trailed after them, clutching a borrowed notebook.
"First real classes today," Rafael said, appearing at her side with effortless timing. He looked annoyingly at ease in the uniform, tie askew in a way that seemed intentional. "Ready?"
Anaya forced a small smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."
He grinned. "That's the spirit."
Their first class was Literature, held in a sunlit hall with arched windows overlooking the forest. Desks were arranged in neat rows, though most students sat turned toward one another, chatting. The air smelled faintly of chalk and ink.
The teacher, a thin woman with spectacles perched precariously on her nose, called roll. Then she gestured toward the front. "Let's begin introductions. Share your name, where you're from, and… if you wish, a glimpse of your future."
Students perked up, eager.
One by one, they stood.
"I'm Amara, from Lagos. My glimpse showed me performing on stage, crowds singing with me. Music is in my veins."
"I'm Daniel, from New York. I saw myself arguing a case in court — defense attorney. I like the sound of that."
"I'm Hana, from Seoul. My glimpse was strange. I was… teaching children how to grow vegetables. I don't know what it means yet."
Laughter and murmurs filled the room. No one seemed shy.
Anaya's pulse quickened. Her turn crept closer with each introduction.
Then Rafael rose.
"Rafael Montoya. Barcelona." He paused, glanced at Anaya briefly, then closed his eyes.
The air shifted.
For a moment, Anaya swore she saw something impossible: two versions of Rafael flickering like overlapping film reels. One wore a surgeon's coat, hands steady, face weary but proud. The other stood on a podium, draped in a politician's sash, a crowd roaring his name.
The visions dissolved as quickly as they appeared. Rafael opened his eyes with a rueful smile. "Still deciding between saving lives one at a time or ruining them all at once."
Laughter rippled through the class.
The teacher chuckled. "Two glimpses, Mr. Montoya? That is rare, but not unheard of."
Students leaned forward eagerly, bombarding him with questions. "Do you get to choose?" "Which one feels more real?" "Have you tried testing it yet?"
Rafael shrugged, though his eyes sparkled. "That's what we're here for, right? To find out."
Anaya sat frozen. Her mind replayed the shimmer she'd witnessed, the way reality itself had seemed to bend. It wasn't imagination. Others had seen it too. And no one looked surprised.
"Next?" the teacher prompted.
One after another, students stood. Futures spilled into the room like jewels: artists, engineers, explorers, leaders. Even the shyest spoke with a certainty Anaya couldn't fathom.
Then it was her turn.
She rose slowly, palms damp. "I'm Anaya Sharma. From India."
The teacher tilted her head. "And your glimpse?"
Heat rushed up Anaya's neck. Dozens of eyes pinned her in place. Mira leaned forward in her seat, smile poised like a dagger.
"I… haven't seen one yet," Anaya admitted, the words tasting like failure.
A beat of silence. Then whispers rippled, sharp and curious.
"No glimpse?""How is that possible?""Did they make a mistake?"
The teacher cleared her throat. "Every Transfer receives a glimpse. Some arrive late, some arrive hidden. Perhaps yours has not yet revealed itself."
Mira's laughter rang softly, slicing through the room. "Or perhaps she doesn't have one at all."
The class tittered.
Anaya sank back into her seat, heart hammering. She wished the floor would open and swallow her whole.
At lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with the same excited chatter as the day before. Groups clustered together, swapping stories of their glimpses like prized possessions.
Anaya carried her tray to the farthest corner, willing herself invisible. She stabbed at her bread roll, appetite gone.
Across the hall, Mira held court at the center table, hair gleaming, voice carrying easily. "Some of us were born extraordinary. And some… well, they're just clerical errors." Her gaze flicked deliberately toward Anaya. Laughter followed like obedient shadows.
Anaya's chest tightened.
She wanted to leave. She wanted to scream. Instead, she lowered her eyes and forced herself to chew.
When she looked up again, Rafael was watching her from across the room. He lifted his glass slightly, as though toasting her in solidarity. The gesture was small, but it anchored her against the tide of humiliation.
The afternoon dragged through History, Mathematics, Philosophy. Anaya scribbled notes furiously, though her mind spun elsewhere.
Why don't I have a glimpse?What if Mira's right? What if I don't belong here at all?
When the final bell rang, she slipped away to the courtyard. The air smelled of wet earth after a brief rain. She sat beneath a carved stone arch, staring at the horizon.
The Academy was beautiful, magnificent even. But already, it felt like a cage built from futures she didn't possess.
She pressed her locket to her lips, whispering into the dusk, "Please… let me be more than nothing."
The stone around her held its silence. But the faintest breeze curled through the arches, carrying with it the echo of laughter from distant halls — and something else, something she couldn't yet name, waiting for her in the shadows of tomorrow.