Arista's pov
By the time I reached home, my head felt louder than the auditorium.
I dropped my bag near the door and kicked off my shoes, letting my body fall onto the couch like it had been carrying everyone else's expectations all day.
"Bad day?" Mom asked from the kitchen.
"Long," I replied. Not a lie. Just incomplete.
Sarvin sat on the floor, pieces of a puzzle scattered around him. He looked up, eyes bright when he saw me.
"You're late."
"I know." I smiled and sat beside him. "Did you save me a piece?"
He slid one toward me without a word.
That was the thing about Sarvin. No pressure. No questions. Just presence.
I fit the piece in place, the soft click grounding me.
School felt far away for a moment.
Until it didn't.
The next morning arrived too quickly.
Festival week meant no real classes—just rehearsals, schedules, and people stepping on each other's nerves. I walked into school with Meera and Sana, their voices overlapping as usual.
"You're quiet," Meera said, glancing at me.
"I'm thinking."
"That's dangerous," Sana replied immediately.
I smiled despite myself.
As we turned the corner, I saw him.
Kaelor was standing near the notice board, talking to Devin. Their conversation looked normal—too normal. Devin laughed. Kaelor nodded once.
Something about it unsettled me.
Not jealousy. Not suspicion. I mean they are friends.
Just awareness. But what if they are planning something against me?
He noticed me then. Didn't stare. Didn't wave. Just that brief acknowledgment, like we shared a frequency no one else could hear.
I looked away first.
Rehearsals were chaos.
Microphones malfunctioned. Someone forgot their lines. Sana snapped at a junior and immediately apologized. Zoe kept adjusting decorations that didn't need adjusting.
And me?
I kept feeling like something was about to happen.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
Soon.
During a break, I sat on the steps outside the auditorium, sipping water, trying to calm my thoughts.
"You look like you're about to overthink yourself into another universe."
I didn't have to look up.
"Is that an official diagnosis?" I asked.
Kaelor sat beside me, leaving just enough space between us to make it intentional.
"Experience," he replied.
I exhaled. "Everyone's watching. It feels… heavy."
"That's because it matters."
I glanced at him. "Does it?"
He nodded. "To you."
That was it. No grand speech. No reassurance.
But it landed.
We sat there in silence, listening to distant laughter and the hum of the building. His presence was calm, steady, like a pause button I didn't know I needed.
From where he sat, Kaelor could see the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers fidgeted with the bottle cap.
He wanted to tell me it would be okay.
He didn't.
He'd learned that words didn't always help—sometimes they made things heavier. So he stayed. Let the quiet do the work.
And quietly, he wondered how someone could feel this important without ever being claimed.
Later that day, Derek cornered me near the lockers.
"You're busy lately," he said, smiling too easily.
"So are you."
He leaned closer. "Just… looking out for you."
I stepped back. "I don't need that."
His smile faltered for half a second.
I walked away before he could respond.
From across the hall, Kaelor saw it. The way Derek's expression changed. The way I held my ground.
Something tightened in his chest.
That night, lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling.
My phone buzzed. A message from Advi.
📩
Advi:
"You okay? You seemed distant."
📩
Me:
"Just tired. Festival stuff."
I didn't mention Kaelor. Or Derek. Or the way my heart felt like it was learning something new.
Because I didn't understand it yet.
All I knew was this:
Something was shifting.
And whether I was ready or not—
The school event wasn't just a performance.
It was a turning point.