HUNGER, NEEDLE, AND HOPE
By her final year, hunger had carved a permanent place inside Elara.
It no longer announced itself with sharp pains or dizziness. It lived quietly beneath her ribs, a dull ache she carried like a secret. She learned how to ignore it, how to function around it, how to keep her hands steady even when her body begged her to stop.
Final exams had begun.
And Selena had decided this would be the end of Elara's walking.
The morning of the fashion and design elective exam, Elara woke before dawn.
Her stomach was empty. Again.
She sat on the edge of her bed, pressing two fingers into her wrist until the shaking slowed. On her desk lay her final sketch — folded, hidden inside a math textbook.
She had worked on it for weeks.
Every line was intentional.
Every curve deliberate.
It wasn't just a design.
It was proof she existed.
She slipped the book into her bag and left quietly.
She didn't know Selena was already awake.
At school, the atmosphere buzzed with stress and whispered prayers. Teachers paced. Students clutched notes. The hallway smelled like fear and cheap perfume.
Selena leaned against a locker with her friends, watching Elara cross the corridor alone.
"This is it," Selena said softly.
"Final year," one girl replied.
"She won't make it past today," Selena murmured.
They waited.
The exam hall was large and cold.
Elara sat near the back, her hands folded neatly on the desk. When the papers were distributed, her heart hammered — not from nerves, but from exhaustion.
Halfway through the exam, it began.
The room tilted.
Her vision blurred at the edges, black spots blooming like ink.
She pressed her feet into the floor and breathed slowly.
Not now.
Then something sharp stabbed her thigh.
She gasped silently.
A needle.
She looked down just in time to see Selena's foot retreat, a thin pin glinting before disappearing beneath a shoe.
Elara's breath hitched.
Pain radiated upward — sharp, sudden, disorienting.
Selena didn't look at her.
She smiled at the invigilator.
Elara tried to stand.
Her legs gave out.
The sound of her chair hitting the floor echoed through the hall.
Students turned.
"Elara!" someone shouted.
Her body hit the ground hard. The exam paper slid away, the textbook spilling open.
The sketch fell out.
Silence followed — thick, heavy, dangerous.
The invigilator rushed forward. "Call the nurse!"
Elara's heart pounded wildly.
The sketch. Please, not the sketch.
She tried to reach for it.
Someone else did first.
A man.
Xander Black had not planned to be there.
He had come to the school as part of a foundation inspection — silent donor, no attention, in and out. He stood near the exit, flipping through his phone when the crash pulled his attention instantly.
He looked down.
At the girl on the floor.
Too thin.
Too pale.
Too still.
And then he saw the paper.
He picked it up before anyone else could.
His eyes scanned the design.
And stopped.
"This is hers?" he asked sharply.
The invigilator nodded. "Yes, sir, but—"
Xander crouched beside Elara, his voice lowering. "Hey. Stay with me."
Her lashes fluttered.
"They'll take it," she whispered weakly. "Please…"
Xander folded the sketch carefully and slipped it into his jacket.
"No," he said firmly. "They won't."
Selena's smile vanished.
At the nurse's office, Elara drifted in and out of consciousness.
"Malnutrition," the nurse said quietly. "Severe exhaustion."
Xander's jaw tightened.
"And the puncture wound?" he asked.
The nurse frowned. "That… shouldn't be there."
Selena stood in the doorway, her expression innocent.
"She fainted," she said sweetly. "She's always dramatic."
Xander stood slowly.
The room seemed to shrink around him.
"You," he said calmly, pointing at Selena. "Step outside."
Selena hesitated.
Something in his eyes — cold, assessing, unmovable — made her obey.
Xander turned back to Elara.
"You walked here every day, didn't you?" he asked quietly.
Her lips trembled.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Her voice cracked. "Because if I stop… I disappear."
Something shifted in his expression.
Not pity.
Recognition.
Later, when Elara woke fully, the room was quieter.
A bottle of juice sat on the table. A sandwich. Unopened.
Xander sat nearby, his jacket draped over the chair.
"You scared them," he said gently.
"I'm sorry," Elara whispered automatically.
He shook his head. "Stop apologizing for surviving."
She looked at him, really looked.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who knows talent when he sees it," he replied. "And someone who doesn't like bullies who hide behind power."
Tears slid down her temples.
"I just want to finish school."
Xander smiled faintly. "You will."
Outside the door, Selena watched through the glass.
Her plan had failed.
Worse —
Someone had seen Elara.
And believed her.