The hallway was nearly empty, save for a few stragglers shutting their lockers. Aisha had gone ahead to class, her books neatly stacked against her chest, her hijab swaying gently as she disappeared around the corner. Tessa lingered at Nyra's side, fiddling with the loose strap of her bag as if she sensed something was wrong but didn't want to press too hard.
Nyra stood frozen in front of her locker, staring into the shallow space as though it might offer answers. But the sound that had clawed its way into her awareness wasn't coming from the metal box or the chatter in the distance.
It was a heartbeat.
But not hers.
She pressed her palm against her chest, counting—one-two, one-two—steady but faint, too faint to be what she was hearing. Because the other beat was stronger. Louder. It pulsed from somewhere outside her body, yet throbbed in her skull as though it belonged inside her.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Nyra's throat dried. Her eyes flicked around the hall. No one was close enough for her to hear their pulse. Yet the sound grew sharper, layered with a rushing hiss like water through a narrow pipe.
Blood.
The word spilled unbidden into her thoughts, and her nails dug into the metal of her locker door.
"Nyra?" Tessa's voice was soft, uncertain. "Are you zoning out again?"
Nyra forced herself to blink. She turned, willing her voice to steady. "Just… dizzy. Maybe I didn't sleep enough."
But her words didn't match her eyes. Tessa's concerned gaze flicked toward her pale face, then down to Nyra's trembling hands.
"You're shaking," Tessa whispered.
"I'm fine," Nyra said too quickly. She snapped her locker shut and forced a weak smile. "Come on, or we'll be late."
But even as they walked, the phantom heartbeat followed.
---
The Classroom
By the time Nyra slipped into her seat, the sound had dulled but never vanished. It lingered under the surface like a second rhythm, one she couldn't escape.
Her new seatmate, Aisha, greeted her with a warm smile. "Morning," she said softly, her accent lilting in a way that carried traces of her home. Her hijab today was navy blue, embroidered with a faint school crest at the edge. She always looked composed, neat, like every fold and corner of her uniform had been pressed into place.
Nyra envied that composure.
"Morning," Nyra mumbled, setting her books down.
Aisha leaned slightly closer, her voice low so the teacher wouldn't notice. "You look pale again. Did you eat breakfast?"
Nyra hesitated. Her stomach churned at the thought. "Yeah. Just tired."
Aisha didn't look convinced, but she didn't press. Instead, she opened her notebook, her neat handwriting already scrawled across the first page. Nyra tried to mimic her, but her pen scratched unevenly against the paper, her focus fractured.
Halfway through the lesson, the hum returned. Stronger this time.
Nyra pressed her knuckles against her lips, trying to steady her breathing. She could hear it again—that pulse. Not from Aisha. Not from herself. Somewhere else.
And then, as though to torment her further, a boy across the room pricked his finger with his compass, muttering under his breath as a bright drop of red welled on his skin.
The scent slammed into her like a wave. Sharp. Metallic. Sweet.
Her chair screeched against the floor as she jerked back.
Dozens of heads turned toward her.
Nyra's heart thudded unevenly. She forced herself to look away from the boy's hand, from the way he casually wiped the blood on a tissue without realizing how the tiniest drop had set her entire body on fire.
"Sorry," Nyra muttered, fumbling for her books. "I just—dizzy again."
The teacher frowned but waved her off. "Go get water, Nyra."
She nearly bolted out of the room.
---
The Bathroom
Cool water splashed against her face, dripping down her chin, soaking the collar of her shirt. Nyra gripped the edges of the sink, her reflection staring back with wide, frantic eyes.
"This isn't real," she whispered to herself. "It's in my head."
But the reflection didn't comfort her. Her lips were pale, her eyes ringed with shadows, and when she blinked, for half a second, she swore she saw that same silver glow sparking deep inside her irises.
A stall door creaked open.
Aisha stepped out, her expression careful, hesitant. "I followed you. I was worried."
Nyra stiffened, guilt rushing over her. She didn't want Aisha—or anyone—to see her like this. But Aisha's gaze was steady, kind, without judgment.
"Nyra… you don't have to pretend around me. If you're sick, you should tell someone. Maybe the nurse, or your mom."
"My mom," Nyra muttered, almost laughing. The sound came out hollow. "She'd just say it's nothing. She always says it's nothing."
Aisha tilted her head slightly. "Then maybe it isn't nothing."
The words hit deeper than Aisha intended. Nyra swallowed hard, her throat tight.
For a moment, she considered telling her everything—about the stew, the mirror, the heartbeat, the hunger. But the fear of being labeled freak burned hotter than her need to confess.
So she forced a smile. "Thanks. Really. I'll be fine."
Aisha's expression lingered on her face, searching for truth, but she didn't push further. She only nodded slowly and said, "If you ever want to talk, I'll listen."
---
The Accident
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Nyra avoided looking too closely at anyone, avoided the cafeteria altogether, and stuck by Tessa's side between classes.
But as the final bell rang, another incident carved itself into her unraveling day.
A loud crash echoed from the science lab at the end of the hall. Students screamed as a shelf toppled, glass beakers shattering into glittering shards across the tiles. Teachers rushed in, shouting orders.
Nyra shouldn't have been affected—she hadn't even been inside the lab. But the sharp scent of chemicals and the faint coppery tang of blood from a student's cut hand reached her like a beacon.
Her chest seized. Her mouth watered.
For a terrifying second, she started forward—drawn not by concern, but by hunger.
"Nyra?" Tessa's voice snapped her back. She grabbed Nyra's wrist firmly. "Don't. It's dangerous."
Dangerous. The word stung, because Tessa had no idea how true it was.
Nyra yanked her hand back, muttering an excuse, and forced herself down the opposite hall, away from the crowd, away from temptation.
But even as she walked, her tongue still burned with the memory of that scent.
---
The Night
The house was quiet that evening. Too quiet. Her mother hummed softly in the kitchen, but the tune was low, strange, almost like a chant.
Nyra lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the phantom heartbeat pounding louder than ever.
It wasn't hers. It wasn't anyone she knew.
But it was calling to her.
And for the first time, she wondered if she would one day answer.