Morning came too quickly.
Soung Ka Byar woke to the pale, watery light seeping through the thin dorm curtains, the kind of light that didn't ask if she was ready, only assumed she would stand up anyway.
Her muscles ached from tension more than from tiredness.
Her dreams had been loud—faces blurring, whispers echoing, words like charity case and scandal crawling through her sleep.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, counting her heartbeat.
You survived Day 1, she told herself.
Now survive Day 2.
She sat up, combed her hair back with shaking fingers, and tied it into a neat ponytail. The mirror reflected someone she barely recognized: the girl who had walked in yesterday was nervous, hopeful, wide-eyed.
Today, she looked… tighter.
Less glass.
More porcelain.
Something that would crack instead of shatter.
She grabbed her sketchbook, shoved it into her bag, and left before she had time to change her mind.
The Fine Arts courtyard was quieter this early, the sky still soft and low, the air cooler. A few students lounged on benches, scrolling their phones. Someone laughed too loudly. A flock of birds scattered across the rooftop.
Ka Byar tried to breathe.
She could still feel the Scarlet Thread post from yesterday burning under her skin, branding her.
"THE FINE ARTS NEWCOMER
Who caught the attention of both the department's star boy
AND a certain mysterious professor?"
She hadn't even done anything.
And yet, somehow, she was already a story.
She took a step.
"Slept at all?" a quiet voice asked beside her.
She flinched.
Soe Hlaing May fell into step next to her, holding a steaming cup of something that smelled like cheap but comforting coffee.
"You walk like you're carrying a bomb," Soe added gently.
Ka Byar tried to smile.
"I feel like one."
Soe held out the cup.
"I brought this for you. I figured you'd either skip breakfast or cry over your sketchbook."
"I didn't cry."
"Yet," Soe said softly.
Ka Byar took the cup, warmth settling into her palms.
"Thank you."
Soe walked without pressing for more.
That was the thing about her—her presence filled silence, but never suffocated it.
They reached the studio wing.
The hallway lights were still dim, humming faintly. A few students stood near the stairwell, whispering about last night's Scarlet Thread update. Ka Byar heard her name once, twice, then a third time—each repetition thinner, more stretched, like they were testing how far it would carry.
She ignored it.
Or at least pretended to.
"Go in," Soe said, nodding toward the studio. "He's probably already there."
"Who—?"
But Ka Byar knew.
Professor Naya Thone.
Her heart sped up for reasons she didn't fully understand.
Soe gave her a small, encouraging nod, then walked away, leaving Ka Byar alone with the door.
The handle was cold beneath her fingers.
She drew a breath, turned it, and stepped inside.
The studio was mostly empty, flooded with early light crossing the floor in pale diagonal lines. Dust floated in the beams, slow and fragile, like it wasn't in a hurry to land.
Naya Thone was there.
He stood near the far window, sleeves already rolled up, one hand resting on the back of a chair, the other holding a pencil he wasn't actually using—just turning between his fingers as he stared at a blank canvas.
He turned at the sound of the door.
"Soung Ka Byar," he said, like he'd been expecting her.
He remembered her name.
That shouldn't have mattered.
It did.
"Good morning, sir," she managed.
"You're early."
"I wanted to practice."
"Good," he replied. "Close the door."
The click of the door sounded louder than it should have.
Naya motioned her forward.
"There," he said, nodding to a stool. "Sit."
She obeyed.
He placed a fresh sheet on the easel in front of her and set a selection of charcoal sticks in a small tray.
"Yesterday was… chaotic," he said.
It was the closest he'd come to acknowledging everything that went wrong.
Ka Byar's cheeks warmed.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble," she said quickly. "I really didn't—"
"You didn't," he cut in calmly. "Other people did."
He said it like a fact, not a comfort.
"And in this place," he added, "talented people attract trouble whether they want to or not."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the stool.
"I'm not talented," she whispered.
Naya's eyes flicked to her.
"Don't argue with me," he said, quiet but firm. "Just draw."
He picked up a charcoal stick and pressed it into her hand.
"Draw your morning."
"My… morning?"
"Yes. How it felt, how it sounded, how it hurt."
Her throat tightened.
"I don't know how."
"You do," he said. "You just don't trust that you do."
He stepped back, giving her space.
The paper waited.
So did he.
Ka Byar exhaled slowly and let the charcoal kiss the page.
At first, her lines were hesitant.
Thin.
Stuttering.
Then they grew darker, thicker.
The courtyard archway appeared, but distorted—too tall, leaning over her. The students were drawn as silhouettes, all eyes and mouths, faces blurred. Her own figure was small, off-center, like a smudge caught in the wrong frame.
She drew the gate twice as tall.
Her bag strap digging into her shoulder.
Her feet too close to the edge of a shadow.
A cup of coffee in another girl's hand. A hand on her shoulder.
And in the background, faint but present—the suggestion of two figures, not fully drawn. One with hands in his pockets, leaning against a pillar.
One standing beside a door, observing.
She didn't realize she was holding her breath until Naya spoke.
"Stop."
She froze, hand hovering near the paper.
He stepped closer, eyes tracing the image.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then:
"This is good."
Her heart jumped.
"I—it's messy."
"So are you," he replied. "That's why it's honest."
He pointed to the warped archway.
"That," he said, "is how you see this place. Bigger than you. And hostile."
He gestured to the blurred silhouettes.
"That is how you see them. Watching without names, without faces. Noise with eyes."
Her throat felt tight.
"And that," he said, tapping the small, smudged figure of her, "is how you see yourself. Too small. Too fragile."
"I am small," she whispered.
"Not here," he said.
Something in his tone cut deeper than any insult Klar had thrown at her.
"Why did you ask to be a tutor?" he asked.
She swallowed.
"My family needs money," she said bluntly. "I didn't want to rely only on the scholarship. And… I want to be better. I thought teaching might help."
"Teaching does not make you better," Naya replied. "It exposes how much you don't know."
"Is that bad?"
"That's necessary," he said. "Discomfort is the first step to growth."
She watched him, unsure if she wanted to grow at all if this was what it felt like.
He turned away, moved toward the window, then spoke without looking at her:
"You shouldn't apologize for wanting things, Soung Ka Byar."
Her heart stilled.
"I'm not…"
"You apologize when you walk. When you breathe. When you stand in a room."
He turned back to her.
"Stop doing that."
She stared at him, cheeks hot.
"I don't know how," she whispered.
"Then we'll learn," he said simply. "Now—again. Same scene. But this time, draw yourself larger."
By the time the rest of the class trickled in, Ka Byar's fingers were black with charcoal dust.
She didn't notice.
She was too busy trying to figure out how to draw herself bigger without lying.
Soe arrived with an apologetic half-smile for being late. Klar slinked in, eyes scanning the room, expression sharpening when she saw Ka Byar near the front with a nearly full page of work.
"Oh?"
Klar drifted toward her like a storm cloud scented with perfume.
"Early private training?" she murmured loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Some people really do get special treatment."
Ka Byar's shoulders stiffened.
Naya didn't even glance up from the canvas he was marking.
"Klar," he said calmly, "find your seat."
She pressed her lips into a smile.
"Of course, sir."
But as she turned away, she brushed past Ka Byar's easel harder than necessary, making it wobble.
Ka Byar steadied it quickly.
Soe shot Klar a quiet glare.
Klar ignored her and sat with the easy confidence of someone who knew she could get away with anything.
Naya clapped once to get the room's attention.
"Today," he said, "we study composition of emotion. Not objects. Not landscapes. Feeling."
Groans.
Murmurs.
"Those of you who want to make pretty things," he continued, "this may not be your class. But those of you who want to make work that hurts—"
His gaze flicked to Ka Byar.
"—you will listen carefully."
Ka Byar felt that look settle on her like a mark.
Later, during the break, she stepped outside the studio to rinse her hands at the outdoor sink. The water ran dark for a moment as charcoal washed away.
"Looks like he likes you."
The voice was half-amused, half-casual.
Min Yatu.
He leaned on the wall near the sink, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, giving the impression that rules bent around him out of habit.
Ka Byar's pulse leaped.
"I—no. It's not like that."
"Like what?"
"He's just… teaching me."
"Well, he's not teaching anyone else like that," Min Yatu said.
She dried her fingers on a rough towel.
"I'm just trying to improve."
His gaze lingered on her hands.
"You're shaking," he observed.
"I'm fine."
"You said that yesterday," he replied. "You didn't look fine then either."
She was getting tired of people noticing things about her she didn't want them to.
"Why do you care?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked mildly surprised.
Then something shifted behind his eyes.
"Because you're interesting," he said simply.
Her mind stalled.
"Interesting how?"
He shrugged.
"You look like you're one bad day away from either breaking… or becoming very, very dangerous."
She blinked.
"I don't want to be dangerous."
"Everyone thinks that," he said softly. "Until they get tired of being stepped on."
There was no mocking in his voice.
Just experience.
She stared at him for a heartbeat too long, then looked away.
"I have to go," she murmured.
"Try not to explode before lunch," he replied casually.
She didn't realize that he watched her until she disappeared inside.
That afternoon, the tutor shortlist went up.
It was printed neatly on official paper and pinned to the bulletin board outside Academic Affairs.
Students clustered around it like bees, buzzing anxiously.
Ka Byar approached slowly, feeling her pulse in her throat.
Six names.
She scanned quickly.
Her eyes landed on the third.
Soung Ka Byar — Fine Arts (Tutor Candidate)
For a moment, everything went quiet.
The world shrank to that one line, that one small proof that she wasn't entirely invisible here.
Someone behind her scoffed.
"Seriously? Her?"
Another voice—Hsu Myat Thin's—said sharply, "There must be a mistake."
Ka Byar's skin burned.
She took a step back.
Klar Za Min appeared at the front of the crowd, eyes narrowing as she read the list.
Her gaze flicked to Ka Byar.
Then to the corridor.
Naya Thone stood there, speaking to another professor, folder in hand.
He didn't look at the board.
He didn't need to.
Klar's jaw tightened.
"Oh," she murmured, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice,
"now it makes sense."
Ka Byar's heart dropped.
Naya had recommended her.
She knew it instinctively.
And Klar knew it too.
The whispers started almost immediately:
"Of course, Naya's favorite got in."
"Wasn't she in his studio early this morning?"
"Maybe that's how she got the spot."
The words crawled under her skin like ants.
She wanted to tear the paper down.
To shout that it was just a recommendation.
That she hadn't asked for this.
Instead, she stood frozen.
Soe moved to her side.
"Don't listen," Soe whispered.
"I can't not listen," Ka Byar whispered back. "They're saying it right next to me."
"Then listen," Soe said calmly. "Remember it. Use it later. But don't let it break you now."
Ka Byar swallowed.
She didn't think she knew how to do that.
When the hallway finally cleared, Ka Byar remained, staring at her name on the list like it belonged to someone else.
She didn't notice Naya until he stopped beside her.
"You're on it," he said simply.
"I saw."
"Good."
Her voice shook.
"They're saying I only got it because of you."
"Let them."
She turned to him, eyes stinging.
"How does that not bother you?"
"Because they're not wrong," he replied calmly.
"I did recommend you."
Her breath hitched.
"Why?"
"Because you deserve the chance," he said. "Because you will work for it. And because being chosen for the wrong reasons is the fastest way to show who you really are."
She stared at him.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will," he said. "When you decide what to do with their resentment."
She hated that part of her… understood.
Hated even more that part of her liked being chosen.
Liked the way her name looked on the list.
Liked the idea of not being just "the scholarship girl."
That scared her.
"I don't want them to hate me," she whispered.
"Then leave," he said, voice quiet, almost gentle.
"Drop the application. Walk away. No more whispers."
Her heart lurched.
He continued:
"Or stay.
Let them talk.
Let them underestimate you.
And then outrun every one of them."
Her fingers tightened at her sides.
He wasn't forcing her.
He was giving her a choice.
For the first time since she'd arrived, someone was letting her choose who she wanted to be here.
She looked back at her name.
The letters didn't seem as thin anymore.
"It stays," she said quietly.
Naya's gaze held hers for a second.
Then he nodded once.
"Good."
That night, the Scarlet Thread posted again.
Her phone buzzed under her pillow. She checked it with trembling hands.
SCARLET THREAD — NEW DROP
"THE SCHOLARSHIP GIRL WHO JUMPED THE LINE:
How did a nobody land a Fine Arts tutor spot?
Talent?
Or something closer to Professor N.T's heart?"
A blurry photo was attached.
Taken from the hallway.
Her and Naya, standing near the board.
Too close.
Too intense.
Ka Byar's stomach flipped.
The comments beneath it were already flooding in.
"Naya's new favorite 😂"
"Of course it's a girl."
"Poor Klar, dethroned?"
"First Min Yatu looks at her, now this? She speedrunning her way into chaos."
Her chest tightened painfully.
She wanted to disappear.
Instead, she put the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
This is what you chose, she reminded herself.
Staying means being watched. Being talked about. Being misunderstood.
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I hate this place," she whispered into the dark.
But underneath the hatred, beneath the fear… there was something else.
A hot, stubborn ember.
The part of her that refused to back down.
The part of her that liked being on that list, whatever the cost.
Somewhere on campus, Min Yatu read the post and cursed under his breath.
Somewhere, Klar Za Min smiled a slow, dangerous smile.
Somewhere, Naya Thone closed his laptop, unfazed, as if this had all happened a thousand times before.
And under thin dormitory sheets, Soung Ka Byar lay awake—heart hammering, lungs tight, mind racing—
not realizing that on this exact night,
the universe had quietly picked her up
and placed her on a path she would not easily step off.
A path where love would not always be love.
Kindness would not always be kindness.
And survival would not always be clean.
She closed her eyes and whispered to herself:
"Don't break."
The university, in response, seemed almost amused.
As if it had just found its newest obsession.
And it would test
exactly
how far
she could bend
before she snapped.