The campus buzzed with voices, footsteps, and expectations.
It was the first day of class, and everything felt new—even for those who already knew the place.
First day. First step toward normalcy
Colorful posters swayed on the bulletin boards: research groups, theater workshops, welcome parties. The air carried a contagious lightness, as if everyone there was about to experience something big.
Amelia ran down the main corridor, her backpack bouncing on her shoulders, sneakers hitting the white floor in rhythm. The wind tossed her loose hair, and she pressed the phone hard against her ear, trying to focus.
"Yes, I'll be there in half an hour. Let the team know to adjust the lighting," she said, her voice firm, almost impersonal.
She weaved through groups of students laughing loudly, threading between circles of conversation, but didn't slow down. The hurry wasn't just physical—it was emotional. As if by running, she could escape the part of herself she didn't want to bring into this place.
"No, Rafa, I can't be late. You know how much it matters afterward," she added, in a dry, professional tone.
The name "Rafa" echoed in her mind like an unwelcome reminder. She wasn't just Amelia here. And that bothered her.
Suddenly, shock.
The books slipped from her arms, scattering across the polished floor. She stopped abruptly, body tense, heart racing.
"Ah, damn it…" she murmured, bending down quickly.
But before she could gather everything, another hand touched the pages. Firm hands, long fingers, careful movements. She lifted her gaze, and for a moment, time stopped.
A man, back to her, leaned over the papers. Broad shoulders, light brown hair, a calm way of moving. Familiar. Almost impossible.
He turned slowly, and green eyes met hers.
Thomas.
The buzzing call on her phone vanished. The corridor noise dissolved.
Everything disappeared except that look—full of surprise, tenderness, and something she hadn't seen in years.
"Amelia?" he said, his voice low, as if he couldn't believe what he saw.
Her phone slipped from her hand. Rafa's voice still echoed faintly on speaker:
"Luna, the cameras are ready. We're waiting for you."
But Amelia didn't respond. She couldn't. She stood there, frozen, feeling the normalcy she craved collide with the life she tried to hide.
Thomas stepped closer with calm but confident strides. The way he moved, the way he looked, the way he smiled—she recognized it all.
"Amelia… it's been so long," he said, with a smile that seemed to stretch across the years.
She swallowed hard, trying not to show how clumsy she felt.
"Feels like centuries…" she replied, laughing nervously, trying to seem light.
"How are you? What have you been up to?" he asked, eyes attentive, curious.
She hesitated for a second. There was so much she couldn't say.
"Ah… studied a lot. Some projects here and there, you know how it is," she said, forcing a timid smile.
"And you?" she asked, trying to shift the focus.
"I'm good. Still working with the family business," he answered, laughing softly. "The pizzeria is still going strong."
She laughed along, enchanted by his naturalness.
"Wow, you've changed, huh! Not the little awkward kid I remember hahah."
Amelia laughed, amused by the joke.
"And you too… the years have been good to you."
Amelia looked at him more closely. Well-cut hair, deeper green eyes, a shy but confident smile. Calm posture, the way of someone who had grown without losing his essence.
"You're the one who got an upgrade, huh… looking good."
He blushed slightly, laughing awkwardly, and in that instant, between laughs and lingering glances, the reunion unfolded on its own—soft, nostalgic, quietly hopeful.
Thomas ran a hand through his hair, a little uneasy, and pulled out his phone.
"We should keep in touch, right? Want to swap numbers?"
Amelia nodded, trying to hide the smile escaping her lips.
"Sure. My number just changed, but I'll give it to you."
She typed quickly, and Thomas held up his screen to confirm. A simple gesture, but carrying more than it seemed.
"Done. Now there's no excuse to disappear," he said, with a light laugh.
Amelia looked at him calmly, like someone finding a safe place again.
"We could meet after classes. Grab a coffee, talk…"
Thomas tilted his head, eyes bright with restrained enthusiasm.
"This afternoon? After the last class?"
She bit her lip, trying to seem casual.
"Sure. I'd like that."
They walked together for a few steps, and the corridor, once full of voices and hurried footsteps, seemed to dissolve around them. Every gesture was contained, yet full of silent tenderness: hands almost touching, low laughs, glances lingering too long.
The bell rang, muffled by the buzz. Thomas glanced at the classroom door, then at Amelia, as if he didn't want to leave yet.
"So… we'll talk later?" he said, with a smile trying to seem casual, but full of expectation.
"Of course. Coffee after the last class, remember?" she replied, adjusting her backpack strap.
They lingered a moment longer than necessary. A light silence, full of unspoken things. Thomas stepped back, raised his hand in a shy wave.
"It was really good seeing you."
"You too…" she said, her smile small but sincere.
He turned, walking down the corridor with that calm way, and Amelia watched. The way he moved, the way his shoulders shifted, how the world seemed lighter around him.
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, still absorbing the warmth of the reunion.
Then the phone vibrated.
The screen lit up her face.
"Luna, the cameras are ready. Let's start."
Her fingers trembled as she touched the screen, trying to type something to postpone. But the words refused to form. She hesitated. Breathed deeply. Tried to cling to the memory of Thomas, to the sweet taste that still lingered on her lips.
But she knew she couldn't.
The corridor still thronged with voices and steps, but Amelia remained rooted. She stood there, caught between two worlds insisting on colliding.
-
Amelia held the phone tightly, her fingers pressing the screen as if to hold onto the moment. Thomas's last words still echoed in her mind, soft, comforting.
"Thomas… I… completely forgot I had a commitment today." Her voice came out nervous, low, almost shy, as if she didn't want to break the lingering magic.
"Ah… what a shame," he replied, with that calm tone that always made her breathe easier. "How about we schedule another time? That way we can catch up properly."
A smile escaped her, lighting her face. — "Yes, of course! I'd love that."
She lowered the phone slowly, as if keeping a precious secret. The room was silent, but not empty.
Soft lights hung from the ceiling, reflecting on the mirrored wall before her.
The black lingerie hugged her body perfectly, the wine-colored lipstick already applied, and her hair fell in dark waves over her shoulders.
Everything ready. Everything in place.
The warmth from the conversation with Thomas still coursed through her chest, leaving an invisible trace on her skin. The muffled sound of the university corridor now felt distant, replaced by the technical silence of the studio.
She looked in the mirror, and for a moment, didn't recognize her reflection.
For a moment, the reflection didn't feel like hers.
It was her—but it wasn't.
Then the door burst open.
Rafa entered, carrying the presence of someone who didn't need to announce himself. Tall, dark-skinned, long hair falling over his shoulders, tattoos marking arms and chest. His dark eyes scanned the room with precision, and the confident smile on his lips asked no permission—it simply confirmed that everything was under control.
He carried the equipment naturally, as if it were part of his body. — "Time to start," he said, firm, without hesitation.
The air seemed to shift. The sweet warmth of the conversation evaporated, replaced by a silent tension. Amelia straightened her shoulders, breathed deep, and stepped forward.
The world of Thomas stayed behind. Now, she needed to be someone else.
Amelia stood before the mirror, the studio's soft glow tracing every curve of her body. She slid a fingertip beneath the strap of her black lingerie, adjusting it with quiet precision—an unconscious ritual she'd repeated too many times to count.
Then she lifted her chin.
It was subtle. Controlled. But in that single motion, something shifted. Her gaze sharpened. Her breath steadied. The hesitation in her eyes vanished.
That wasn't Amelia anymore.
That was Luna Scarlet.
And just as the door burst open behind her, she stepped forward—flawless, composed, untouchable. The lights rose. The performance had already begun.