Monday, 8:22 AM
She stepped into the lobby like she owned the place — hoodie up, boots loud, and not a single care for the sea of heels and cufflinks that turned to stare. Let them look. She wasn't here to impress anyone.
The receptionist gave her a once-over, clearly unsure if she was lost or about to start a riot. She smirked. That made two of them.
Somewhere thirty floors up, her father was probably pacing in his glass office, already rehearsing the speech: *"You can't just drop out again."*
Too late. She'd already dropped, landed, and brought her reasons with her.
She adjusted her backpack, shoved her hands in her pockets, and headed for the elevators — ready to explain herself, or go down swinging.
★
"Your school called today. Tell me why your principal said you dropped out!" Mr. Dacosta, a wealthy businessman who's name silenced boardrooms and who's looks made women bleed just with a quick glance, asked his sixteen year old daughter angrily.
The girl didn't seem to care. She crossed a leg over the other nonchalantly and admired her newly made nails and new ring.
"The school didn't fit my... aesthetic." She simply said. "They didn't want me on skirt, no rings, no painted nails, come on dad. You know I hate that kind of thing." She added, rolling a pen between her fingers skillfully.
"Your aesthetic?" Mr. Dacosta repeated and pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was visibly trying his best not to lash out and scream at the nonchalant girl seated before him like she was planning to take over the business from him.
"You know what? Do a search yourself, where do you want to go? And this time, you'll actually stick to it!" He said with a tone of finality and before he could sit, his daughter slid an application form across the table swiftly.
"This is Kingston High. I want to go there." She said immediately like she had been practicing that exact moment for months.
"You already got a student application form? Listen here Vida, are you sure this is what you want? I can't keep pulling strings for you okay?" Mr. Dacosta said with a tired face. She nodded eagerly.
With a very tired and frustrated look, Mr. Dacosta got to work, calling and pulling strings, but to his suprise, he didn't need to do too much to get her in. The principal accepted to take his daughter in right away.
★
*Monday, 9:03 AM*
The black SUV rolled to a smooth stop in front of the gates, catching eyes like it always did. Tinted windows. Polished rims. Engine too quiet to be average.
The driver hurried around to open the door, but she was already out — one foot on the pavement, backpack slung low, baggy jeans brushing over chunky sneakers. Her oversized tee hung loose, and a black face cap sat low over her eyes like a shield.
She didn't need it, though. Her energy did all the talking.
She looked up at the school — glass walls gleaming, clean-cut courtyard, students walking like something important depended on them.
And just for a second, her brow lifted.
Damn.
She hadn't expected it to look this good.
Of course, the surprise only lasted a heartbeat. Her mouth twitched into the smallest smirk, and she rolled her shoulders like she was shaking it off.
"Still just a school." she muttered, snapping back into her usual rhythm.
The whispers had already started. They knew the car. They didn't know her. A girl in a fitted skirt gave her a lingering once-over. One of the boys elbowed his friend, not even trying to be subtle.
She walked past them like they weren't even there.
New school. Same her.
Let them stare.
She wasn't here to blend in.
She walked into the class five minutes late. Was she apologetic? Of course not. She walked into the class like her father owned the place and stood beside the teacher.
Of course she needed to actually introduce herself. She would have skipped introductions but she needed everyone to remember her name.
"Hello everyone. I'm Davida Dacosta." She said with a smirk and pulled off her cap, smoothening scattered strands of her hair into place.
She was the kind of girl you noticed twice — first for the way she carried herself, and second for everything else.
Tall, with long legs that made her stride look like a statement. Her blonde hair wasn't the soft, fairy-tale type — it was sharp, layered, and usually tied in a low, lazy ponytail that still managed to look cool without trying.
Her build was athletic — the kind that said she played sports but didn't brag about it. She didn't walk like she needed protection. She *was* the warning.
But her eyes?
Hazel. Deep and quiet, like honey laced with wildfire. The kind of eyes that made people pause, even if they didn't know why — warm, but unreadable. Enchanting, like they were hiding stories she'd never tell out loud.
And the way she dressed — baggy jeans, oversized shirts, always something casual, always something expensive — screamed effortless rebellion. A walking contradiction: bold, beautiful, and completely unbothered.
"Welcome to Kingston High Miss Dacosta. This is literally one of the best set in the school right now; the set of kings and queens." The teacher introduced with a proud smile. Davida furrowed her eyebrows.
"You name your sets?" She asked in confusion. The teacher shook her head and sighed with a posture and face that translated to "where do I want to start".
"As you go on, you'll understand." A girl suddenly interrupted and the teacher gave a small thankful smile.
Davida took her seat behind the class, rolling a pen between her fingers as she studied each and every student carefully; Designer clothes that didn't scream, polished behaviour, this friendly yet distant aura around them, the familiarity, she even saw few popular influencers on social media. This really was an elite school. A small smirk danced on her lips.
★
*Girls' Hostel — Monday, 4:12 PM*
The door swung open, and she paused in the doorway, blinking once.
*"Okay... this is not what I expected."*
The room was massive — high ceilings, cream-colored walls, smooth tiles that didn't squeak when you walked. Two beds, perfectly spaced. A wardrobe each. A soft rug in the center. It looked less like a high school hostel and more like a hotel suite someone forgot to charge for.
A girl sat at the far bed, legs crossed, earbuds in, reading a book like the world didn't exist.
Quiet. Neat. Clearly the type who said "sorry" too much.
Perfect.
She stepped inside, dropped her designer duffel with a dramatic thud, and popped her neck like she'd had a long day (she hadn't). She glanced at her new roommate, who still hadn't looked up.
"Hey,"she said.
No response.
She rolled her eyes. "You deaf or just shy?"
The girl blinked, pulled one earbud out, and looked up — calm, expression unreadable.
"I said hey. I'm Davida"
A pause.
"Hi." She finally responded.
Davida looked around, then nodded toward her bags. "You mind helping me with those? I mean... since you're already sitting."
The girl stared for a second. No emotion. No panic. Just silence. She quietly responded.
"You brought them. You carry them."
That made Davida blink.
"Excuse me?"
The girl closed her book slowly, stood up, and looked her dead in the eye — still quiet, but solid.
"I'm quiet. Not soft."
Silence.
A beat passed. Then Davida's lip curled into a half-smile — not angry, but surprised., amused even.
"Okay. So that's how it's gonna be."
The girl shrugged. "That's how it is."
She dragged her bag to her side of the room with a low whistle.
"This might actually be fun."
She dragged her bag across the floor, letting it drop beside the wardrobe on the left, then finally took a proper look around — especially at the other girl's side of the room.
It was... beautiful. Quietly so.
The walls near her bed were painted a soft, calming shade of blue — not loud or flashy, but the kind of color that made you breathe a little slower without realizing. Her bed was neatly made with navy sheets, sky-blue pillows, and a tiny string of fairy lights tucked just under the top shelf above her head.
A shelf by the window held a row of carefully arranged books, a small potted plant with curling green leaves, and a pale ceramic mug that said "Think Quietly, Burn Bright" in delicate gold lettering.
No mess. No noise. Just clean lines and cool tones. It didn't look like a student lived there — it looked like a person who *chose* peace.
She raised a brow, then glanced at the girl again.
"You really like blue, huh?"
The girl didn't look up from her book.
"It likes me back."
That made her chuckle. Not bad.
She tossed her face cap onto her bed, pulled off her shirt, and stretched like a cat.
"Fine. You stay on your pretty sky side. I'll stay on mine."
The girl didn't answer. Just flipped a page.
But she was definitely smirking.