I stared at it for an hour.
R. M. Vale.
Written in the margins like a whisper. Like a signature on a contract I never signed.
Over and over again.
R. M. Vale. R. M. Vale. R. M.—
It wasn't just obsession.
It was ownership.
But whose?
The next morning, she wasn't in class.
Her seat was empty. The last one in the back. Third row from the window. Still had that stupid smudge on the desk no one ever bothered to clean.
I don't know why it bothered me. But it did.
More than it should've.
And not because I missed her.
Because I didn't know where she was.
I didn't like not knowing.
So I checked the admin office. Said I was supposed to deliver some forms.
No record of absence.
No record of Rhea Virelle at all.
The secretary squinted at her screen like she was humoring me. "Are you sure that's the name?"
"Positive."
She smiled the way adults do when they think you're imagining things. "Maybe she goes by a middle name?"
I left before I said something I'd regret.
By lunch, my hands were shaking.
I told myself I was overreacting. That there was some mistake. That of course she existed—I'd spoken to her, touched the notebook, cornered her in the stairwell—
Hadn't I?
I pulled out the notebook again. Pages rustled under my fingers like brittle skin. I flipped through until I found the first mention of me.
And realized something.
There were fingerprints in the margins. Tiny ones. Pressed faintly into the paper like someone had gripped it hard—almost like fear.
But they weren't mine.
After school, I waited near the courtyard tree she always avoided.
I wanted to see what would happen if I stood on the path she never walked.
Nothing did.
Just the wind. A few dead leaves. Distant laughter from kids who still believed in simple things.
I was about to leave when I saw something wedged into the tree bark.
A folded paper. Torn at the edges. My name on the front.
No envelope. No stamp. No explanation.
I opened it.
> You looked in the wrong place.
I'm not gone. You're just behind.
Stop searching for records.
Start remembering.
That night, I didn't sleep again.
I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything. Every word. Every glance.
And something shifted.
Because I started seeing her in places she wasn't.
A reflection in the train window. A shadow slipping into the library.