Chapter One: New Beginnings and Old Nerves
(Lyra's POV)
The morning light creeps through my curtains like it's testing my patience.
It lands right on my face, sharp and golden, like it's saying: Wake up. You don't get to hide today.
I pull the blanket tighter around me anyway.
The boxes stacked in the corner look like strangers staring me down — reminders that this isn't home yet. Just a stopover. A temporary life we've unpacked in a rush.
Mom says it's a fresh start.
To me, it just smells like paint, new wood, and something we left behind that we're not supposed to talk about.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Saint Valley High. First day.
New town, new faces, new chances to mess everything up.
When I finally drag myself downstairs, the kettle's already whistling. Mom's at the counter, sketching something on tracing paper — another project, another dream built from lines and angles.
"Morning," I say softly.
She looks up, eyes tired but warm. "Hey, kiddo. Toast?"
I nod. She doesn't ask if I slept. I don't ask if she did.
Her workspace has taken over half the dining table — blueprints, pencils, and coffee rings forming a kind of chaotic geometry. Mom, the architect who can design perfect houses but can't quite hold one together.
"You'll do great today," she says, sliding a mug toward me. "Just… be yourself."
"Yeah," I mumble, stirring my tea. Which self, though?
I don't say it out loud.
She's already looking at the plans again — lines, not people.
I think that's her way of staying strong.
Saint Valley High looks like something from a movie.
Tall glass windows, students who all seem to know where to go, and hallways so polished I can see my reflection — pale, nervous, pretending to look like I belong.
My heart pounds so hard I almost hear it echoing in the walls.
I keep my sketchpad close to my chest like armor.
"Okay," I whisper to myself. "You just have to survive the day. Don't throw up. Don't—"
And of course, that's when I crash into someone.
My bag hits the floor. Papers everywhere. My schedule lands upside down in a puddle of someone's iced coffee. Perfect.
"Whoa," a voice says — low, startled, and kind of amused.
I look up. And instantly regret it.
He's tall — annoyingly tall — with sunlit hair that looks like it was painted by someone who's never had a bad hair day. His uniform's half-untucked like he couldn't care less, and his eyes… they're sharp, blue-gray, and too focused on me.
"Maybe look before sprinting through hallways?" he says.
"I was looking," I mutter, grabbing my papers. "You're just… in the way."
He chuckles. "That's a new one."
"Congrats. You're officially my first problem of the day."
He smirks — actually smirks — and hands me my ruined schedule. "Welcome to Saint Valley, new girl."
I scowl. "How'd you know I'm new?"
"Because you still look terrified."
"Maybe I just saw your face."
That wipes his grin for half a second.
Then he laughs under his breath, the kind that sounds like trouble.
When he finally walks away, my pulse is still racing — not in the good way.
First class: English.
My teacher, Mrs. Larkin, looks like she could silence an entire stadium with one raised eyebrow.
"Everyone, we have a new student," she announces. "Lyra Solene. Please take the seat by the window."
Great. Front row to my own humiliation.
As I sit, something rolls off my desk — my pencil. Before I can reach for it, a hand appears, placing it gently beside me.
That voice again. "Told you fate has a sense of humor."
I look up.
Golden hair. Blue-gray eyes. Same smirk.
"You've got to be kidding me," I whisper.
He just smiles like he's having fun. "See you around, new girl."
By lunchtime, I'm convinced Saint Valley High is secretly a social jungle. Everyone seems to have a pack. Everyone seems to belong.
I find an empty corner, unwrap my sandwich, and try to pretend I'm invisible. But of course, that doesn't last long.
Two girls approach me — one with glossy blonde hair and sharp confidence, the other with softer eyes and an easy smile.
"Hey," says the confident one. "You're Lyra, right? Come sit with us. It's a rule here — no eating alone."
I blink. "That's… a rule?"
"It's kind of a tradition," the other girl says. "I'm Saphira. That's Soraya."
Before I can say no, they're already pulling me to a table near the window — the loud, laughing table.
And there he is.
Golden boy from the hallway.
He's mid-conversation with a quiet guy whose dark curls fall over his eyes.
"Oh, you've met?" Saphira asks, noticing the flicker in my expression.
"Unfortunately," I mutter.
"She ran into me," he says at the same time.
They both laugh.
"This is Evander Lucius Vale," Soraya says, gesturing toward him. "Most people call him Evan."
He gives me a mock salute. "Nice to properly meet you, Collision Girl."
I roll my eyes. "Creative."
"And this is Cassian," Saphira adds, nodding to the quiet one. "Don't mind him, he speaks in one-word sentences."
Cassian smiles faintly. "Hi."
"See?"
"Hi!"
They tell me about the school, the art club, how their friend Aveline's out sick today but "basically runs our lives."
For the first time all morning, I actually laugh — softly, carefully, like it's something I forgot how to do.
Last class of the day: Art.
Finally. My safe place.
The room smells like paint and turpentine, and I instantly feel lighter. I pick a seat by the window, unpack my pencils, and—
"You've got to be kidding me," I say out loud.
Evan Vale is at the next easel, sleeves rolled up, brush already in hand.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes bright.
"Fate, remember?"
I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "This year's going to kill me."
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So guys the book is up again with a better plot!!!!
Also available on webnovel. (Soon)