She felt it before it happened.
The shift in energy at school the next morning — subtle but sharp.
The glances were no longer curious.
They were calculated.
Someone knew.
Third period was history.
She barely heard a word of it. The teacher's voice was just white noise beneath the roar in her head. Her body ached from the fight — ribs sore, lip split, knuckles tight under her sleeves. She hadn't wrapped them this morning. Let them breathe.
Let them show.
Maybe part of her wanted to be found out.
Maybe part of her was done hiding.
The moment came after class.
"Aara," Mr. Nam called. "Can I see you a second?"
She froze.
Students filed out. Haru was halfway through the door when he stopped and looked back — eyes sharp, jaw tense.
Aara nodded slightly, telling him it was fine.
It wasn't.
Mr. Nam waited until the door closed.
Then he crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.
"I came across something last night."
She said nothing.
His tone wasn't aggressive. But it wasn't neutral either.
"A video. Low resolution. Shot through a crowd. I wouldn't have noticed anything... until the girl took off her hoodie."
He paused.
"And I recognized your eyes."
Her fingers twitched at her side.
But she kept her voice level.
"That's not proof."
"I didn't say it was."
Silence.
He exhaled.
"I don't know how deep you're in, and I'm not asking. But I know what I saw. And if I saw it? Someone else will too. Someone who won't look the other way."
He stepped forward.
"I've taught a lot of students who break under pressure, Aara. But you? You're breaking through it. Into something colder. And I'm not sure that's something you'll come back from."
She looked up finally.
Eyes calm. Voice flat.
"I'm not coming back from anything. I never left."
Mr. Nam didn't argue.
He just handed her a small folded paper.
On it: a printout of the fight video URL. Scribbled over in red marker:
"You need to choose what you want to be known for."
And that was it.
No detention.No principal's office.No threat.
Just a warning.
And warnings, she'd learned, always meant someone else was already looking.
By lunch, she'd deleted every file on her burner phone.
By last period, she found Haru already waiting near her locker.
He didn't ask what happened.
Just said, "I know someone. He can take that video off the net."
Aara stared at him.
"Why do you always have someone?"
He smiled faintly.
"Because I knew I'd meet someone like you."
That night, she walked to the overpass alone.
Stood there in the cold, fingers tight around the edge of the metal railing, hoodie half-zipped.
It was strange.
The fights, the bruises, the lies — none of it scared her.
But this?
This being seen — not by the crowd, not by Haru, not even by herself…
But by someone who still believed she could be more?
That shook something loose.
Behind her, she heard footsteps.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
Haru's voice was quiet.
"Did they say your name?"
"No. Just my eyes."
"I can make them forget."
She laughed once. Short. Bitter.
"You can't un-see someone, Haru."
"No," he agreed. "But I can remind them why they should never look that close again."
He came to stand beside her, both of them leaning on the same cold railing, the city spread out in front of them like a battlefield waiting for a name.
"You're bleeding again," he said, nodding to her knuckle.
She looked down. Dried blood cracked against the skin.
She hadn't even noticed.
"You never tell me to stop," she said.
"Would you?"
"No."
"Then why waste the breath?"
A long pause.
Then he added, voice lower:
"I just stay close enough to catch you when it breaks you."
She didn't reply.
Didn't need to.
Because deep down, she knew:
It wouldn't be the fights that broke her.
It would be the day she finally let him all the way in.
And let him stay.