SARINA POV
Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains, soft and warm, as if the world itself had decided to behave normally for once.
Sarina sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands.
No glowing light.
No wings.
No monsters.
Just… her.
She let out a slow breath. A normal day, she thought. And somehow, that felt harder than battle.
Downstairs, Aria's laughter echoed through the house. Evan was arguing with Lukas about something — probably food — and for a moment, Sarina smiled. This was what she had wanted. This calm. This illusion of peace.
But secrets have weight.
And hers was getting heavier.
At breakfast, the boys were unusually quiet.
Evan kept glancing at Sarina like he wanted to ask something but didn't know how. Lukas stirred his tea far longer than necessary, his brows slightly furrowed. Aria noticed it too — she always did.
"Okay," Aria finally said, crossing her arms. "You're all acting weird. Especially you." She looked straight at Evan.
He sighed. "We're just… thinking."
"About?" Sarina asked gently.
Lukas met her eyes. "About how our lives changed overnight."
No one spoke after that.
Because they were all thinking the same thing.
Later that day, they walked together through the quiet street near the old park. The sky was clear, kids were playing, and everything looked painfully ordinary — like the world had no idea how close it had come to chaos.
Aria leaned closer to Sarina. "You okay?"
Sarina nodded. "Yeah. Just tired."
It wasn't a lie. But it wasn't the whole truth either.
High above them, unseen, Lumina watched.
Her wings were hidden, her light dimmed, but her eyes were sharp. Protective. Careful. She could feel Sarina's conflict — the pull between being human and being something more.
Not yet, Lumina thought. The truth will come… but not today.
As the sun began to set, the group sat on the grass, sharing snacks and quiet jokes. Lukas laughed properly for the first time in days. Evan relaxed. Aria lay back, staring at the sky.
For a moment, Sarina allowed herself to believe this could last.
But deep inside, something stirred.
A reminder.
Power doesn't disappear.
Secrets don't sleep forever.
And somewhere in the distance, fate was already moving.
Igo to the school the next morning
School always felt the same—crowded corridors, loud voices, the constant rush from one class to another. Walking through the gate, I told myself this was good. Normal. Safe.
No monsters.
No fights.
Just school.
Third period dragged on endlessly. I opened my notebook, ready to copy the notes from the board—and stopped.
My name wasn't there.
I stared at the top of the page.
I always wrote it. Always.
A strange chill ran through me as I picked up my pen and wrote Sarina again.
The pen refused to work.
I shook it, pressed harder—nothing.
"Need one?" Lukas whispered, sliding his pen across the desk.
I nodded. "Thanks."
His pen worked instantly.
That should've been the end of it.
It wasn't.
During lunch break, Lukas returned from the office looking confused.
"They couldn't find my roll number," he said. "They said it's not in the system."
I laughed softly. "That's a mistake. Offices mess up all the time."
But even as I said it, my stomach twisted.
Because mistakes don't feel like this.
Last period. Attendance.
The teacher called names calmly, ticking the register.
When she reached mine, she paused.
"
Sarina…?" she said, uncertain.
"
Yes, ma'am."
She frowned at the register. "
You're marked present, but your name isn't written here."
The class laughed.
I didn't.
Because the empty space where my name should've been felt louder than any sound in the room.
When the bell rang, everyone rushed out.
I stayed behind for a moment, staring at my desk.
No scratches.
No carvings.
Not even my initials.
Like I had never sat there before.
I stood up slowly.
Whatever this was, it wasn't targeting the school.
It was targeting me.
And the scariest part?
No one else seemed to notice.
The next day felt the same when it started.
Same classroom. Same noise. Same seats.
Jordan was already sprawled across his chair, half asleep. Leo was arguing with Ethan about some test answers, their voices low but intense. Lukas sat beside me, tapping his pen like always.
Normal.
That's what scared me.
English period.
Mrs. Rao walked in, glasses slightly crooked, register tucked under her arm. She'd taught us for two years. She knew our names without looking.
She started attendance.
"Jordan."
"Present."
"Leo."
"Here."
"Ethan."
"Yes, ma'am."
She continued smoothly, flipping pages.
My turn should've been next.
She didn't say it.
I waited.
Nothing.
She moved on.
"—next page."
My heart skipped.
I raised my hand slowly. "Ma'am?"
She looked straight at me.
Blank.
"Yes?" she asked politely.
"Attendance," I said. "You skipped my name."
She glanced down at the register, then back at me again.
"I'm sorry," she said slowly, confused. "Who are you?"
The classroom went silent.
Jordan sat up. "Ma'am, that's Sarina."
Mrs. Rao frowned. "No… I don't have any Sarina here."
I felt cold all over.
Lukas leaned forward. "Ma'am, I sit here. Next to her."
She turned to him.
"And you are…?"
Lukas froze.
"I—Lukas."
She shook her head gently. "I'm sorry. I don't recognize either of you."
My chest tightened.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Being unseen.
Leo whispered, "This isn't funny."
Ethan nodded. "Ma'am, they've been in this class since the start of the year."
Mrs. Rao looked genuinely disturbed now. She flipped through the register faster.
"No," she said quietly. "There's no Sarina. No Lukas. I've never taught you two."
Never.
The word echoed in my head.
She closed the register.
"Both of you," she said carefully, "please go to the office. There's been a mistake."
A mistake.
Like we were paperwork.
Like we were the problem.
Lukas stood up slowly. I followed, my legs feeling unreal beneath me.
As we walked out, I glanced back.
Jordan was staring at my empty desk like it shouldn't be empty.
Leo looked unsettled.
Ethan wouldn't meet my eyes.
They remembered us.
But she didn't.
Outside the classroom, the corridor buzzed with students passing by.
Normal life.
I stopped walking.
"This isn't just forgetting," I whispered to Lukas. "Is it?"
He shook his head. "No."
Because forgetting is human.
This felt… selective.
Intentional.
And whoever—or whatever—was doing it…
Had decided we were the first to disappear.