The lecture hall was hot enough to roast bread. The ceiling fans spun lazily, stirring the heavy air but refusing to do their job. Amara sat near the back, her notebook open, her pen balanced across the lines of half-hearted notes.
"Faraday's law states that—" the lecturer's chalk screeched across the board, making her wince. Her classmates scribbled furiously, but Amara's hand ached and her brain already felt like mashed yam.
She dropped her pen, rubbed at her wrist, and froze.
There it was again.
The faint shimmer.
It looked like silver dust beneath her skin, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. For weeks now it had appeared and disappeared, like a cruel trick of light. At first, she'd laughed it off — maybe she was tired, maybe she needed new glasses. But the glow never really left.
Her chest tightened. She tugged her sleeve down quickly, hiding it from view.
"Amara?"
She nearly jumped. Tolu, her seatmate and closest friend, leaned over with a raised brow. "You okay? You're staring at your hand like it's about to explode."
Amara forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just… distracted."
Tolu squinted at her but shrugged. "Fine. But if you faint, I'm not carrying you to the clinic."
Amara laughed weakly, grateful for the distraction, and bent her head over her notebook again. She tried to focus, but the shimmer pulsed stronger now, almost warm under her skin.
She bit her lip. Something was happening, something she couldn't explain. And she hated not having answers.
---
The rest of the day blurred past in a haze of classes and whispered thoughts. Amara kept tugging at her sleeve, terrified that someone else would notice. By the time she reached her hostel that evening, she locked the door and collapsed on her bed, yanking her wrist into the light.
The glow was still there.
Brighter.
She touched it with trembling fingers. It didn't hurt — in fact, it felt like… a heartbeat. Steady. Alive.
She let out a shaky breath and covered it again. "You're losing your mind," she whispered to herself. "That's all this is. Stress."
But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.
---
By Monday morning, the shimmer had become part of her routine. She hid it under long sleeves, ignored the strange warmth it gave off, and pretended everything was fine.
It worked — until he walked in.
The door to the lecture hall creaked open mid-class. Heads turned as a tall boy stepped inside, the sunlight at his back. He carried a worn backpack slung over one shoulder, his stride casual yet steady. His hair caught the light, dark but with faint copper strands, and his eyes…
Amara's breath caught.
His eyes were sharp, like they could cut through glass.
The lecturer cleared his throat impatiently. "New transfer student?"
"Yes, sir," the boy replied, his voice calm and even.
He introduced himself — Kael. Then he slid into an empty seat near the front, completely unbothered by the attention.
Amara would've looked away. She wanted to look away. But then she saw it.
His wrist.
Glowing.
Her stomach dropped.
It was faint, but unmistakable — the same starlight shimmer, pulsing beneath his skin.
Her own mark flared in response, heating under her sleeve like fire had kissed it. She gasped softly and clutched her arm, eyes wide.
Across the hall, Kael's head tilted slightly. His gaze lifted.
And their eyes locked.
For one dizzying heartbeat, the world tilted. The noise of the class faded, and it was just the two of them, caught in some invisible pull.
Amara's pulse thundered. She yanked her eyes away, face burning, but the damage was already done. He had seen her. And worse — he knew.
---
After class, she darted out quickly, hugging her books to her chest. The corridor buzzed with students, but Amara moved fast, desperate to escape.
"Wait."
The voice came from behind her — calm, low, and somehow certain.
Her steps faltered. She turned slowly, and there he was, Kael, standing under the shade of the old neem tree outside the faculty block. His gaze was steady, unreadable.
Up close, he seemed even taller, his presence heavy like a storm cloud. But it wasn't his height or his eyes that unsettled her. It was his wrist.
The glow was back. Stronger. And so was hers.
"You see it too," he said softly, lifting his wrist just enough for the light to catch.
Amara's throat went dry. She hugged her books tighter. "I—I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do." His tone wasn't harsh, but it carried a weight that pressed against her chest. "It's not an illusion. It's a mark. And it means…"
He hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly. Then he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only she could hear.
"It means we're bound."
Amara's breath caught. The world seemed to shrink to the space between them, to the strange warmth flaring in her wrist, to the terrifying certainty in his words.
Bound?
To him?
No. Impossible.
But as the glow pulsed brighter, responding to his nearness, she realized one horrible truth — whatever this was, it was only the beginning.