Monday arrived with the familiar, dull weight of a school day. The triumph of the festival and the quiet satisfaction of building the desk faded into the background, replaced by the mundane reality of hallways and classrooms.
The change at school was subtle but undeniable. When Thea walked through the halls now, the whispers that followed her were different. They were no longer the cruel, pitying murmurs about the "cursed girl." Now, they were whispers of curiosity.
"That's her, the one who won the art show."
"Seriously? She's the one who drew those birds?"
"I heard she's living with that guy, Kofi. The one who threatened Jessica."
Thea heard it all. She kept her head down, her sketchbook clutched to her chest, but the words did not sting in the same way. They were just noise now, the meaningless chatter of a world she was slowly learning to navigate.
