The fingerprint had disappeared the next morning.
No note, no sign. Just this faint smell of salt in the kitchen. Almost as if someone had really been there yesterday.
"You're up early," said Sabine, pulling her cardigan tighter.
"Couldn't sleep," mumbled Lina as she cut herself a slice of bread.
"Because of school?"
"Because of... I don't know. Just because."
Sabine sighed. "You've become so quiet lately."
"I've always been quiet."
"No. You used to talk. A lot, actually."
"That was when I was ten," said Lina, sounding harsher than she intended.
Markus came in, newspaper under his arm, his coffee steaming. "Morning, world. Hey, Lina? Ready for math?"
"Sort of."
"'Sort of' means no," he said. "But you'll manage."
Tom ran through the hallway with his shoes on. "I have practice again today! Lina, are you coming to watch?"
"We'll see."
"You always say that."
"Then I'll say it again."
Sabine looked at the two of them. "You two are really like day and night."
"I'm the day," Tom grinned.
"Then I guess I'm the storm," Lina murmured.
Sabine pushed the bread toward her. "At least eat a little."
"I'll try."
"Trying isn't enough, child."
"I'm eating," she whispered and took a bite, even though her stomach refused.
---
The schoolyard was wet from the drizzle.
Laughter, shouts, and music everywhere.
Lina pulled her hood down lower, but she knew she couldn't hide.
Her phone vibrated. She already knew what that meant.
Class Group 9b.
> "The mermaid has surfaced again 😂"
"New episode of #WindowGirl"
"Look how she stands there. Like she's waiting for her fish."
A photo. Blurry, but definitely her. At the window, forehead against the glass.
Above it, a fish emoji and below: Maybe she's looking for her reflection.
She stared at the display.
The air around her grew tighter.
"Oh, she's seen it," said Jana, barely two steps behind her.
Mia held up her phone. "This is art, right? Emotional portrait."
"Art that nobody wants," Lina whispered.
"Come on," said Jana. "Without you, it would be really boring around here."
"Then be glad I'm here," said Lina dryly and walked on.
"Wow, sassy," Mia giggled.
"Leave her alone," someone said behind them, but too quietly for it to count.
---
The classroom smelled of wet jackets and chalk.
Ms. Haller wrote "Cell Structure" on the board.
Lina copied it down, but she didn't see what she was writing.
"Berger, please read."
"Yes." She stood up, her voice thin.
A few snickered. "Mermaid reads about cells," someone whispered.
Ms. Haller turned around briefly. "Quiet."
When Lina sat back down, she looked at her notebook.
There was a dark imprint. Half-moon shaped, like from a wet fingertip.
She ran her finger over it.
It remained.
Then – simply gone.
And instead, a small stone lay there.
Round, smooth, gray. In the middle, engraved – a circle with a slash.
She stared at it.
"Everything okay?" whispered Mira from the side.
"I think I'm slowly losing it," mumbled Lina.
"Welcome to the club," Mira grinned quietly. "But at least you look good doing it."
Lina smiled weakly, put the stone in her pocket.
It was cold. Too cold.
---
In the cafeteria, she sat at the edge.
Mira came with Jonas, a quiet guy with curls that never lay the way they should.
"Come on, sit down," said Mira.
"I don't want to intrude."
"You never do," said Jonas. "I talk too much anyway."
They sat in silence for a while.
Lina pushed pasta back and forth, Mira ate with genuine dedication.
"You know," Mira began, "sometimes I think people just need a victim to feel normal."
"So I'm therapy?"
"More like a mirror," she said. "They laugh because they're afraid of being like you."
"Great."
"It means: you're real."
Lina looked at her. "Thanks."
Mira just nodded.
Then Lina's phone vibrated.
No number. No name.
Just a message.
Keep it safe.
She froze.
Jonas noticed. "Spam?"
"Yes," she said too quickly.
"Ignore it," said Mira, poking at her sauce. "Half of everything is fake these days anyway."
Lina nodded, but her heart beat uneasily.
The stone lay in her jacket pocket.
And it felt warmer than before.
---
After class, she stayed behind alone.
The hallway was empty, the voices disappearing outside.
She opened her locker, put books inside, just wanted to... disappear.
"Lina," someone said. She spun around.
Mr. Vogel stood there. "Everything alright?"
"Yes."
"You know, you can always—"
"I know," she interrupted him. "Thank you."
He nodded, but his gaze lingered, as if he could see more than she was saying.
She turned away – and there, at the end of the hallway, someone was standing.
Tall, in a dark jacket, hood pulled low.
Just for a moment.
But she recognized something about the posture.
That calmness.
That restlessness within the calm.
"Come on," whispered Mira, who was suddenly behind her. "Don't stare."
"Did you see him?"
"Who?"
"Never mind."
When she left, no one was there anymore.
Just the smell of rain and... salt.
---
At home, it was quiet.
Markus watched the news, Tom kicked a ball against the doorframe.
"Not in the house!" he called and laughed at himself.
"How was it?" asked Markus.
"Normal."
"Meaning?"
"Same as always."
"Mirella wrote," Tom called out. "She's baking lemon cake again tomorrow!"
"Then go over there tomorrow," said Markus. "A little movement won't hurt."
"Tomorrow," repeated Lina softly.
"What?"
"Nothing."
She went to her room, closed the door.
Her notebook lay on the desk.
On yesterday's page: Today someone saw me.
Below it she now wrote: And today he recognized me.
The phone vibrated.
Don't drop it.
She typed: Why?
The check mark turned gray. No answer.
She stood at the window. The rain had started again.
A car drove by, trails of light across the ground.
In the wet glass, her face was reflected – and for a tiny moment, something behind her.
A shadow.
She turned around.
Nothing. Just darkness.
She took a deep breath. "I'm already talking to myself," she murmured.
The phone vibrated again.
This time a photo.
Her classroom. Empty.
In front, on the teacher's desk – a stone. Round, gray. Just like hers.
Below, in gray text:
Tomorrow sit in front.
Lina froze.
"No," she whispered. "Definitely not."
She deleted the message. Or tried to. But as soon as it was gone, the phone vibrated again.
Too late.
She dropped the phone.
The screen glowed in the dark, like a strange eye.
Outside, rain beat against the window.
Her heart pounded, so loudly that she thought Tom must hear it in the next room.
She hesitantly picked up the phone again. Nothing new. Everything gone.
Just the stone on the table.
It shone dully in the light.
And for a tiny moment, before she turned off the light, she was certain the engraved line on it had moved –
like an eyelid slowly opening.
✨ If Lina's story touches you, give her a few stones 💎 – they're like little lights showing her she's not alone.