Imani Okafor had never missed an alarm before. She was always composed, nails done, lashes curled, outfit perfectly laid out the night before. But today, she jolted awake to sunlight already pouring in through her window, heart racing before she even looked at the time.
8:26 AM.
"Crap, crap, crap!"
She launched herself from bed, skipping her usual skincare routine, tugging on jeans and a hoodie over yesterday's shirt, and cramming a granola bar into her bag. Her mom was nowhere in sight, probably out already, or just indifferent. Imani didn't bother calling out. She'd grown used to the silence.
Rushing into the school hallway fifteen minutes later, breathless and still fixing her ponytail, she tried to slip into Roosevelt High without drawing too much attention. That hope shattered when she turned a corner too quickly and collided into someone.
A file folder spilled, and papers scattered everywhere.
"I'm so sor.." she began, then stopped dead.
It wasn't a student.
It was Mrs. Li, the notoriously no-nonsense literature teacher.
Tall, sharply dressed, and with an expression that could freeze fire, Mrs. Li gave Imani a cold once-over, then calmly bent to gather her papers.
Imani crouched to help. "I really didn't mean to.."
"You're late. Miss" Mrs. Li said flatly.
"I overslept."
"No excuse. Roosevelt students are expected to uphold a standard, especially ones who think they're above it."
Imani blinked. "Excuse me?"
Mrs. Li didn't look up. "You may charm your classmates, Miss Okafor, but charm doesn't work on me. Clean yourself up before you walk into my school again like that."
With that, she stood and walked off, leaving Imani holding back every smart retort she wanted to throw after her. Her cheeks burned. That was Noah's mom?
As if summoned by the thought, Noah appeared from around the corner, sketchpad tucked under his arm. He paused mid-step when he saw her, scanning her face.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Imani pasted on a fake smile. "Fine. Just got ambushed by Cruella de Literature."
His mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. Instead, his eyes lingered on her a second longer, as if reading something beneath the surface.
"You look... tired."
"I said I'm fine."
There was an awkward pause. He didn't push.
"Your class starts soon," she said.
"So does yours."
They walked together without saying more.
Lunch came, but Imani didn't feel like eating. Her body was jittery, nerves frayed, skin prickling in a way she couldn't explain. She barely remembered the morning classes. Whispers still hovered about her and Noah, though less frequent now. But her mind wasn't on rumors today. It was somewhere darker.
She stepped into the girls' bathroom, locked herself in a stall, and sat down on the closed toilet lid.
She couldn't breathe.
Her hands were trembling. The walls felt like they were closing in. Her chest tightened as if invisible arms were crushing her lungs. She pressed her palms over her eyes, tried to will the feeling away.
Breathe. Breathe.
She'd had these before, in the quiet hours of the night when the house was too still and her stepfather's presence too loud even when he wasn't speaking. But never at school. Never like this.
She splashed water on her face at the sink and stared at herself in the mirror—smudged eyeliner, wild hair, red eyes. If anyone saw her like this...
The door creaked open.
She tensed, turning away fast, but it was too late.
"Noah?"
He stepped inside, clearly not caring that it was the wrong bathroom. His eyes locked onto hers instantly.
"I heard you left lunch. Kayla said you looked pale. You're not okay."
"I told her not to say anything"
"You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm not."
"Imani."
Her name from his lips was gentler than she'd ever heard it. He didn't touch her, just stood there watching with concern that felt too heavy to handle.
"I can't do this here," she said. "People are already watching us."
"I don't care."
She looked away. "You don't get it."
He shifted his weight. "Maybe not. But I know what it feels like to be overwhelmed and pretend you're not."
Something about the way he said it made her turn back. His voice had softened again.
"I get panic attacks too," he added quietly. "Used to have them all the time when my mom tried to make me quit drawing. She thinks art is a waste. I'd draw for hours anyway, hide it under my bed like it was some kind of addiction."
Imani blinked, her body slowly stilling.
He leaned slightly against the wall. "She thought I needed to be tougher. Stronger. Less... sensitive."
The corners of Imani's mouth twitched. "And you?"
"I learned how to be quiet enough to not be noticed."
That hit somewhere deep. She nodded, just barely.
"Let's get out of here," he said.
They skipped last period and sat on the school rooftop, legs dangling, the wind messing up both their hair. Imani watched the cars below. She felt the quiet settle between them but this time, it wasn't uncomfortable.
She spoke first. "Do you think people like us are just... broken?"
Noah didn't answer immediately. Then, "No. I think we're just bruised."
"Same thing."
"Bruises heal."
She looked at him, surprised by the conviction in his tone.
His dark eyes didn't flinch under hers.
"You really believe that?"
"I have to."
There was something about him, still and steady like an anchor. And it made her angry. Because she wanted to believe it too, but her bruises felt permanent.
"What happens when they don't?" she asked.
"Then we help each other carry them."
She blinked hard, willing tears not to form.
"No one's ever said that to me before."
He shrugged, looking out over the rooftops. "You've probably never let anyone close enough."
"And you think you have?"
"No. But maybe that's the point."
Another silence stretched, warmer this time.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.
"You're weird, Noah," she murmured.
He smiled a little. "You're exhausting."
A laugh burst from her, unfiltered and real.
And for the first time in days, something in her cracked... and let a little light in.
Back at home, the weight returned.
Her stepfather was in the kitchen, flipping through mail. He looked up when she entered.
"You're late."
"Extra class," she lied.
He stared too long. "Hmm."
She slipped past him and closed her bedroom door quickly. The moment it clicked shut, she leaned against it, heart thudding. That coldness in his tone was becoming more frequent. More calculated.
And she didn't know what scared her more , his words, or the ones he hadn't spoken yet.