The Fashion Show ended in a blaze of confused glory. Booma's collection was declared the winner by a single point, but the abrupt power failure and the strange, lingering scent of ozone left the judges whispering. Backstage, the celebration felt hollow. Booma was exhausted, her magical reserves depleted, but she had achieved her goal: she'd countered Leena's dark influence and recharged the Locket of Whispered Wishes with positive energy.
"Booma, you were incredible!" Maya squealed, hugging her tight. "That light show at the end? Was that... a special effect you added?"
"Something like that," Booma murmured, avoiding eye contact. She couldn't tell Maya the truth; she couldn't risk putting her friend in danger.
As she gathered her sketches, she felt a powerful, focused gaze on her back. She didn't need to turn around to know it was Chinnappa. She had been cold to him earlier, treating their relationship—their unspoken one-sided love—as a mere casual acquaintance. She knew that distance was necessary, but it felt like a heavy stone pressing against her chest.
She hurried out the back entrance of the gymnasium, intending to walk home quickly and collapse. It was a cold, late evening, and the sky was heavy with the promise of more rain.
"Booma! Wait up!"
Chinnappa's voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. She sighed, stopping beneath the cold shelter of the school awning.
He strode towards her, holding something tightly in his hand—a wilted, almost magical-looking flower from the hem of her winning gown. He must have picked it up from the runway.
"The lie stops now," Chinnappa stated, his voice low and serious. "I saw the crackle of energy when your dress moved. I felt the pulse when the lights went out. And I know you lied to me about the 'mountain walk.' No ordinary classmate disappears for two weeks and returns with the ability to cast spells."
Booma clenched her fists, the locket warm beneath her uniform. "You're being ridiculous, Chinnappa. It was a short circuit. And I went hiking. End of story."
"No," he insisted, taking a step closer, forcing her to look at the wilted flower. "I found this after the lights came back on. Look at it. It's impossible. And I read your sketchbook, Booma. The one with the title: 'The Locket of Whispered Wishes.' You designed a mystical artifact and then vanished with a cat, only to return and perform actual magic on a stage. I need to know the truth. Is the world broken? Are you in danger?"
His vulnerability—the sheer desperation in his eyes, the fact that he had risked thinking himself crazy just to find her—tore down the walls she had carefully built.
"Yes," Booma whispered, the single word feeling like an admission of guilt. "The world isn't broken, but it's threatened. And yes, I'm in danger. I can't tell you more. It's safer for you to believe I'm crazy."
"Safer?" Chinnappa laughed, a short, bitter sound. "I haven't slept in two weeks. I was sure you were trapped in some kind of fiction nightmare. You treat me like a stranger, but you expect me to sit here and watch you walk into danger? That's not what friends do."
His use of the word 'friends' hit her harder than any magical attack. It was a powerful, unspoken truth. Despite her longing for him to be more, he was, first and foremost, her friend, and she had hurt that bond.
"The truth is too dangerous, Chinnappa," Booma said, tears pricking her eyes. "There's a Shadow King, and he wants this locket. He uses people's negative emotions—their greed, their one-sided love, their sense of failure—to gain power. If he knows you know, he'll use you against me."
Chinnappa leaned against the cold brick wall, his expression serious. "Then I won't let him. I can't cast spells, but I can think, Booma. I found your sketchbook, didn't I? I found the truth about the Metro Train witness. I'm good at puzzles. Tell me what I need to do to protect you."
Booma looked at him, her heart softening. This wasn't the shallow, popular boy the rumors painted; this was a true, loyal friend, ready to stand by her, even in the face of the impossible.
"You need to pretend we had a huge fight," Booma instructed, looking up at the sky, which was now beginning to drizzle the promised rain. "You need to act distant. You need to keep the sketchbook safe. It has clues about the ancient outpost beneath the school. And most importantly... you need to trust me when I pull away. It's not because of the crush, Chinnappa. It's for survival."
Chinnappa nodded slowly, the rain starting to pepper the awning above them. "I can do that. I can pretend to be broken." He held out the wilted flower. "But keep this. As a reminder that the magic is real, and the truth is worth fighting for."
Booma took the flower, placing it carefully inside her jacket. It felt warm against the cool metal of the locket.
"Where do you go next?" Chinnappa asked.
"I have to go back to Aethel," Booma confessed. "The Shadow King's spy is gone, but the rift is still weak. I have to find a way to seal it permanently. It involves a long mountain walk through the magical realm to find an ancient spell location."
"Be careful, Booma," he said, his voice laced with genuine love and concern—a powerful mix of friendship and something deeper that neither of them could define.
Booma nodded, a determined look in her eyes. The competition was over, but the quest had just begun, and this time, she had a quiet, loyal ally back home, waiting in the weather of the Mundane Realm.