Chapter One: Shadows and Light
The first bell of the day rang like a faint warning, a low metallic clang that reverberated through the halls of Hollowridge High. Aria Vega slouched in her usual seat at the back of Ms. Harrison's English class, her sketchbook open but untouched. Her pencil hovered over the blank page, indecisive. The words forming in her head were jagged, half-formed, pieces of poems she didn't yet have the courage to release.
Outside, the late September sunlight slanted through the windows, brushing over the classroom desks in gold dust. Inside, it felt heavier, like the weight of unspoken things pressing down. Aria's fingers drummed lightly against the sketchbook, a rhythm meant to anchor her, to make the world feel predictable for just a moment.
Her gaze wandered to the front of the room where Ms. Harrison was lecturing on metaphor and imagery in poetry, her voice a melodic monotone that Aria had memorized over countless classes. Words filled the space around her, but they didn't land. Aria's mind had already drifted, not to the required readings or the assignments she was supposed to complete, but to the night before.
She had posted another poem on Lumen, her anonymous poetry account, the one place where her thoughts could exist without scrutiny. The poem hadn't received as many likes as she hoped, though a few comments had trickled in. She didn't know—or want to know—who was reading. That was the point. A digital universe where people could touch her thoughts without ever seeing her face, without ever judging the lines she wrote.
And then there was the comment that had made her pause:
"You see the world in fragments, but somehow make it whole. Keep writing."
No username attached. Just a heart emoji.
Aria's chest had tightened when she saw it, and she'd stared at the screen for a long minute before letting herself breathe again. Who had written that? Someone kind? Someone who actually understood? Or just a random teenager trying to be nice? She didn't know, and she didn't think she was ready to know.
Her attention snapped back to the classroom when Ms. Harrison clapped her hands.
"Aria?" she said. "You're staring out the window again. Care to share your thoughts?"
Aria blinked. The rest of the class had their pens poised over notebooks, ready to write their own answers. She swallowed, wishing she could disappear.
"I… uh… was thinking about imagery," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Not a lie, but not the truth either.
Ms. Harrison arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to elaborate, or shall we move on?"
"I think… imagery is like looking at the world through broken glass," Aria murmured. The words came out more confidently than she expected. "Pieces of reality you can't control, but if you put them together carefully, you can make something that feels complete."
There was a pause, then a faint smile from Ms. Harrison. "An interesting metaphor, Aria. Perhaps you could expand on that in your assignment."
Aria nodded, relief washing over her. The attention had been brief, almost harmless, and she could feel herself exhaling as the lesson moved forward.
Later that day, Hollowridge High was a hive of controlled chaos. Lockers slammed, sneakers squeaked against polished floors, and the scent of cafeteria food lingered like an invisible fog. Aria moved through the corridors with her head down, backpack slung loosely over one shoulder, earbuds in. Music was the one thing that could almost drown out the constant hum of anxiety that followed her like a shadow.
Her phone buzzed once in her pocket. She pulled it out: a notification from Lumen. Someone had liked her latest poem. She tapped the comment icon, her heart thumping.
"You see the world in fragments, but somehow make it whole. Keep writing."
Her fingers hovered over the screen. It wasn't just a message—it felt like a lifeline thrown into the darkness. She typed something small, careful:
"Thank you… that means a lot."
And then she deleted it. Her chest tightened again. She wasn't ready to talk to this stranger, whoever they were. Maybe she never would be.
She shoved her phone back into her pocket as the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The corridors flooded with students heading to their next classes. Some moved in loud, confident packs; others, like her, navigated in quiet pockets, avoiding the collision of bodies and noise.
It was in the library, her sanctuary, that she first noticed him.
Kieran Holt.
He wasn't supposed to be here. Everyone knew Kieran: captain of the soccer team, the golden boy of Hollowridge High, effortlessly charming, and intimidatingly tall. He leaned against the shelves, headphones around his neck, flipping through a book on music theory.
Aria froze, her pencil poised midair. She had seen him in the hallways, in passing, maybe even at school events, but she'd never truly looked. He wasn't as perfect as everyone said. There was something… fragmented about him too. A tension around his eyes, a slight slump to his shoulders that betrayed a weight he carried silently.
She looked down at her sketchbook. The words refused to come. Her usual refuge—the ability to write anything at any moment—was gone, replaced by the sudden awareness of Kieran Holt's presence.
A soft cough behind her made her glance up.
"You like poetry?" he asked, his voice low but not harsh.
Aria's eyes widened. He wasn't talking to her. Surely not.
"You—uh—you draw poetry?" he clarified, nodding toward her sketchbook.
She shook her head quickly. "No, just… doodles."
He tilted his head, curious. "Can I see?"
Her pulse spiked. No one ever asked to see her work. She hesitated, the internal voices shouting: No. Don't show anyone. They'll laugh. They'll judge.
But something in his expression—earnest, open, a little tentative—made her hand shake as she handed over the sketchbook.
He flipped through the pages slowly, carefully. Aria could feel him reading, not just the words, but the silences between them. When he stopped at one page, he traced a line of her handwriting with a fingertip, as if afraid to break the spell of her words.
"This is… really good," he said finally. "You… write all of this?"
She nodded, cheeks burning. "Yeah. Just… private stuff."
He smiled softly, not in a teasing way, but like he understood something unspoken. "It's… real. And it hits. I mean, not in a scary way, but… in a way that makes sense, you know?"
Aria didn't know. She just knew that her stomach felt heavy with something unfamiliar, a mix of fear and relief.
That night, Aria sat on her bed, phone in hand. The library encounter replayed in her mind like a film she couldn't pause. Her sketchbook lay open beside her, scattered with poems she hadn't even shared online.
Tentatively, she logged into Lumen. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Then she saw it—another comment. Not random this time. The same words she had seen earlier, but with an added question:
"Did you write today? I want to read more."
Her heart lurched. Could it be him? Was it Kieran Holt, the boy who had just praised her work in real life? She typed a reply, fingers trembling:
"I… I did. But it's nothing special."
And she hit send.
Moments later, a reply appeared:
"Nothing special doesn't make it any less real. Keep sharing."
Aria stared at the screen, feeling a strange warmth settle over her chest. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, the constant fog of anxiety felt… lighter. Maybe. Just maybe.
Her reflection in the phone screen looked back at her: tired, anxious, but… not entirely alone.