The bell rang with a piercing shrillness, signaling the end of the first period. Lucifer stood up, the small blue marble still resting in his palm. It felt cold, yet it sparked a faint, stinging sensation in the back of his mind.
He stepped toward Nancy's desk. She was busy packing her sketchbook, her movements graceful but hurried.
"You dropped this," Lucifer said, his voice deep and detached.
Nancy paused, her hand hovering over her bag. She looked up, and for a split second, their eyes locked. Lucifer felt a strange jolt—a flash of a playground, the smell of rain, and a distant laughter—but it vanished before he could grasp it.
"Oh, thanks," Nancy replied, reaching out. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the marble. She didn't offer a smile; her expression was as guarded as his. "I've had this forever. I'd hate to lose it."
"It's just a marble," Lucifer remarked, turning to leave.
"It's a promise," she whispered, almost to herself.
Lucifer stopped in his tracks, his back still turned to her. That word—promise—echoed in his head like a ghost. He wanted to turn around and ask her what she meant, but his pride pulled him forward.
Outside in the hallway, the crowded corridors felt suffocating. They walked past each other, shoulders nearly brushing, two souls connected by a piece of glass but separated by fifteen years of silence. They were close enough to touch, yet miles apart, oblivious to the fact that their childhood halves were finally standing in the same light.