I had a feeling it would be you," the teacher said, shaking his head in disappointment.
Merlin didn't respond. He just kept his head bowed, staring at the floor as if the tiles themselves had answers. His chest was heavy, his throat dry.
"Merlin!" the teacher barked.
The boy didn't move. His silence only deepened the man's frustration, so he lowered his voice and tried again, choosing persuasion instead of anger.
"You always have to go and do things like this," he said. "Is it because we don't handle you properly? Is that it? Do you feel ignored, like the other students get more?"
Merlin's fingers twitched against his knees, but he gave no reply.
The teacher sighed, leaning back in his chair. "How are you going to inherit this facility if you keep acting like this? Look around—we are the only surviving unit left in Xiberia for a reason. Discipline keeps us alive. If you keep this up, then by the time it's your turn to lead, we'll all be dead."
He tried to lighten the weight of his words with a crooked smile. "You wouldn't want that on your head, would you?"
But the attempt at humor only made Merlin's chest tighten. He had heard this speech before. A thousand times before. Each word, though familiar, carved deeper into him, sharp as a knife dragged across his heart on a winter night.
The teacher rubbed his forehead, his patience thinning. "Just go. Leave."
Merlin stood slowly. His legs felt heavy, his eyes empty. He left the office without a word, a hollow shell of himself. His footsteps carried him straight to class, but his soul trailed behind.
---
While Merlin sat in silence, the girl at the center of the storm found something else.
Riya tugged open her locker again, still unsettled, and saw a folded slip of paper wedged in the corner. She pulled it out. On the front, in messy writing, were the words:
Hey Riya, this is a letter from Merlin.
Her breath caught. She unfolded it quickly and read.
It wasn't a love letter. Not even close.
Her eyes widened at first, then softened back into their usual calm mask. Without a second thought, she crumpled the paper and stuffed it into her pocket.
---
The next day, Riya walked down the hallway. Students blurred around her like moving shadows. Her mind replayed what she had read—Merlin's letter, his words, the weight behind them.
It wasn't even romantic, she thought. So why did I react like that?
A pinch of guilt twisted in her stomach. I didn't even give him a chance to speak.
But before the thought could sink deeper, she reached her classroom. She pushed the door open gently, slipped inside, and placed her books neatly on the desk. The room was quiet. Only one or two students had arrived—she was early, as always.
Her eyes flicked instinctively to the back corner, two seats behind hers. Merlin's seat. He always sat there, pressed against the wall, always close enough to bug her when he wanted.
Empty.
She didn't panic. Merlin was a habitual latecomer. That's who he was. Always dragging his feet, always arriving when everyone else had already settled. Still, the words from his letter echoed in her head:
I won't be in class anymore. By the time you notice, I'll be gone.
Absurd, she told herself. Merlin always exaggerated. But even so, the thought left a knot in her chest.
Her mind drifted further than she wanted. Back to the weight pressing on her life. Someone—something—had been putting pressure on her lately. Fear lingered in her like initials carved deep into a wooden desk, impossible to erase.
She thought back to a different life. When her parents were still there. When mornings meant warm breakfasts, neatly packed bags, and a kiss from her mother on her forehead before school.
That life was gone. She had learned to cope with the loss, to adapt, to harden. She got used to almost everything. Almost.
The one thing she couldn't erase was the emptiness—the absence of joy. Except… there was one person who made her feel like she still mattered.
The thought brought a faint smirk to her lips. But before it could grow, a sharp crack landed against her desk.
She flinched hard, ducking instinctively, covering her head as if bracing for a blow. The cane trembled against the wood. Her breath quickened.
It wasn't punishment.
It was only her teacher, tapping to catch her attention. "Are you all right?" he asked, brows furrowed.
"I'm fine," Riya said softly, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze.
She looked around the room. The classroom had filled without her noticing. Students hunched over their notes, the morning lesson already in motion.
Her eyes darted back to the corner seat.
Still empty.
The smirk she had worn moments
before dissolved instantly, vanishing like darkness erased by morning light.