The Day She Returned
Semina Arlen reached the school gates after the bell had already dissolved into the morning air. The building stood unchanged—wide corridors, pale walls, the same notice boards—but standing before it felt heavier than she expected. Her uniform sat stiffly on her shoulders, pressed and correct, yet unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone who knew where she was going.During lockdown , school had existed behind a screen. Faces were small and distant, voices optional. Mistakes disappeared the moment the call ended. Now there were footsteps, laughter, the scrape of chairs—sounds she hadn't learned how to place herself inside again. Walking through the corridor, she felt the same quiet unease she remembered from childhood: trying to keep up, trying to understand, and sensing that she was always a step behind.
When she entered the classroom, introductions were already in progress.
Semina took the nearest empty seat and kept her eyes on the desk, hoping attention would pass over her. Names floated by without registering until a voice—calm, unhurried—cut through her thoughts.
"Paul Solace."
The name struck her unexpectedly. Not because she recognized him, but because it echoed a family name she hadn't thought about . The connection was vague and meaningless, yet vivid enough to pull a short, accidental laugh from her before she could stop it.
The sound felt loud in the quiet room. A few students turned. Heat rushed to her face. She bent over her notebook, pretending to read, wishing the moment would erase itself. When she looked up again, Paul was already seated, unaware—or uninterested. She noticed only fragments: his relaxed posture, the ease with which he occupied space. Nothing more. Just an impression that lingered longer than it should have.
Her own introduction followed. Her voice came out softer than she expected, as though it had been unused for too long. She sat down quickly, heart still racing.
The girl beside her leaned closer. "I'm Selene," she whispered. "Feels strange being back, doesn't it?"
Semina nodded. Selene Whitmore spoke easily, filling silences without effort. Over the next few days, their conversations stayed simple—shared notes, quiet comments, small smiles. Selene didn't ask questions that required explanations, and Semina was grateful. The friendship formed gently, without pressure.
At first, Semina believed she would adjust.
Before everything shut down, she had been capable. Not exceptional, not failing—just steady. She told herself that the past years had only interrupted that version of her, not erased it. Once she settled back into routine, her confidence would return.
That belief fractured the first time Mr. Ashford called her name.
"Semina. Solve the next one."
She stood up automatically. The problem on the board was familiar. She had explained it to Selene moments earlier, her words clear, almost confident. But standing there, with the room watching, her thoughts scattered. Her chest tightened. The numbers blurred into shapes without meaning.
She knew this. She had known this.
Silence stretched behind her. Someone shifted in their seat. Mr. Ashford waited.
Her mind emptied.
After a moment, she lowered the chalk and murmured an apology. As she returned to her seat, she kept her eyes on the floor, wishing—not for reassurance—but for invisibility.
It didn't stop there.
Over the following days, her name was called again. Panic arrived faster each time. She began expecting failure before it happened, her confidence shrinking with every attempt. Eventually, a thought settled into her mind and refused to leave: He's doing this on purpose.
Mr. Ashford had noticed her weakness. He was exposing it.
Selene tried to reassure her, but reassurance couldn't reach where the fear had taken root.
Between classes, Semina occasionally noticed Paul—talking easily with others, laughing with a girl whose name she didn't know. Watching him didn't make her jealous. Instead, it stirred something quieter and unfamiliar. A warmth she couldn't explain. A small smile she didn't question.
As exams approached, Semina studied harder than she ever had. Late nights blurred into early mornings as she re-read notes and practiced endlessly. But without guidance, effort turned into exhaustion. When the results came, they confirmed what she had already begun to fear.
She had failed.
After that, the boundaries became visible—between Selene and those who moved ahead, between Paul and the ease he carried, between herself and the person she believed she used to be. Conversations drifted without her. Laughter felt distant. Worry followed her even when nothing was actively wrong.
Each evening, sleep claimed her the moment she reached home. Mornings arrived too soon, leaving her more tired than before. The cycle repeated—school, worry, sleep—stretching forward without pause.
Semina had returned to school.
But she had not returned to herself.