Hanni walked like she was trying not to take up space, her steps quiet, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders as if it wanted to hide her.
"Yeah, I found it in my bag's side pocket during last period," she said, bags under her eyes, like she hadn't slept in days.
We didn't talk as we headed down the hall. The fog pressed against the windows outside, making the air feel thicker.
Room 722's door was cracked open. I nudged it wider.
The room was small and messy. A desk in the corner sagged under piles of old graph paper. An old sofa bed sat against one wall; my step raised a cloud of dust. The center table was covered with notes full of strange symbols, just left there. Shelves lined with worn mystery books filled the rest of the space.
My Rubik's cube clicked in my pocket, cutting through the quiet.
Minji was at the table, digging dice out of her pocket. She looked up, her face tight. "You made it. I slipped you both those notes. If you're here, that means that phrase hooked you. That's enough to prove you belong in this club."
Hanni's face went pink, and she avoided my eyes. The room felt heavy with everything we hadn't said since we were kids. Why pick us? This seemed bigger than some old game.
"I heard this club shut down ages ago," Hanni said.
Minji nodded. "I'm restarting it. New genes."
Hanni tilted her head. "So what's 'Petals Around the Rose' about?"
Minji held up the dice. "It's the club's way in. No chit-chat interviews. Just the dice and figuring out the truth. Spot the pattern, and you're good. You up for it?"
I shifted my weight, the cube digging into my hand. "Pass."
Hanni shot me a look, half tease, half challenge. "Come on, Jin. This is right up your alley."
Her small smile hit me with a flash of summer nights, her laughing over dumb riddles on torn paper. I shoved the thought away, but it stuck around.
Minji's voice dropped, steady and careful. She spun the tray slow, the dice glinting under the buzzing lights. "Petals Around the Rose. Name's important. I roll, tell you a number. You have figure out the rule. Hint: it's always even or zero. That's it."
The dice just sat there, waiting.
I hated clubs and crowds, but the familiar itch kicked in—the feeling that a pattern was hiding right in front of me.
Fine. I'd play, just long enough to make the itch stop.
Minji rolled: [3, 6, 1, 4, 3]. "Four."
Hanni jotted stuff down fast.
Another roll: [5, 2, 3, 6, 5]. "Ten"
Hanni stopped writing, staring at the dice.
One more: [4, 4, 2, 6, 5]. "Four."
I eyed the dice, seeing how some faces mattered more, others didn't.
Petals. Rose.
It pulled at an old memory, like a game from way back, a voice teasing me when I got stuck. I followed the connections behind her numbers. The logic hovered, almost there.
Hanni threw out two wrong guesses, her tone getting quieter, annoyed. Minji smirked, like she could tell I was closing in.
"You figured it, huh, Jin?" Minji asked, her eyes sharp.
If my deduction was correct, it wasn't about adding up. It was the dice's design, the visuals. The puzzle name was more than a hint—it twisted how you saw it, daring me to look beyond the obvious. I held back. Spilling it could show too much, or pull me in deeper.
Hanni's notes stacked up, neat but shaky.
Another roll: [1, 4, 6, 2, 4]. "Zero."
I leaned back, clicking the cube. Minji's confidence covered something edgy.
"Club's been dead for years. Why drag it back now?"
She glanced at me, a flicker of amusement in her eyes.
"Because I need it. And you two."
I narrowed my eyes. "Us? Why pick Hanni and me out of everyone?"
Minji's smile turned sharp. "Let's just say I've been watching. You two spot patterns others miss. There's a puzzle the old club never solved, and I need minds like yours to crack it." Her voice dropped, daring us.
Hanni glanced at me. Her annoyance faded. Her eyes saw straight through me.
The memory flashed—us under streetlights, scribbling riddles on the pavement, her laughing when I beat her to the answer.
It hurt a little. It cracked the walls I built.
She was stuck on the puzzle, and part of me wanted her to break through.
I looked at the tray and said, low enough for only her to catch, "Sometimes the answer isn't in what's showing. It's in what's missing."
Minji raised an eyebrow, but I was talking to Hanni.
Her eyes lit up, flicking back to the dice.
"Zero," she murmured. "Not every petal shows itself. Is that it?"
"One more roll," she said, voice steady.
Minji shrugged and tossed the dice: [3, 1, 5, 2, 5].
"Petals around the rose," Hanni said under her breath. She leaned in, tapping the 1, 3, and 5. "The rose is that middle dot. Straight up. Three's got two petals around it. Five's four. One? Nothing. So ten."
No cheer, just quiet calm, like she grabbed back a piece of herself. I watched her, not the dice—the fire in her eyes, her shoulders dropping easy. A small warmth hit me, quick and real, like echoes from those lost summers.
Minji grinned big, her voice fired up. "Force won't crack a rose, Hanni Pham. Patience does. It's not tricks or numbers. It's seeing the truth hiding in plain sight, clear as day. The club's founder lived by that. Welcome aboard!"
Hanni's smile kicked in strong, and for a second, I pictured her in some dim library, slapping my hand after nailing a tough one, her keychain flashing. My chest tightened.
Minji turned to me. "And you, Jin. You're sharper than you let on. You're in, like it or not." Her laugh dared me to bolt.
I didn't push back.
Hanni's glow held me, a thread to a past I'd buried. The room pulsed, those shelves full of old stories murmuring.
---
The sky hung gray as Hanni and I walked home, campus fading behind us. Her steps were light, her voice soft.
"Mystery Club, huh? Glad something like that's still alive here."
I shrugged, hands in pockets, cube solid against my fingers. "Beats doing homework."
She laughed and bumped my arm. "From the guy who coasts on nothing."
I raised an eyebrow. "Look who's talking. You're the grade machine. This'll wreck your perfect run."
Her smile faded, eyes distant. "That puzzle... you slipped me a hint, didn't you? Like before, wasting afternoons on brain teasers. I'd hit a wall, you'd poke me along. It was good times."
The image cut clear—her big laugh, our scribbled messes, her whoop when I cracked it. I looked off, keeping my tone flat. "Nah. You put it together. Your grind, your win."
Hanni stopped, eyes on mine, straight and open. "Those days stuck with me, Jin. They made us who we are."
I stayed quiet, her words settling heavy, like closing a drawer on dust.
---
Morning hit quiet the next day, sky still heavy. I got to my desk early, room empty, cube ticking soft in my hand. A purple envelope sat there, no name, handwriting neat and bold. I tore it open, pulse picking up.
Whispered winds carry
Twisted guard sticks to our hands
Starlight calls you back.
A haiku. It landed too personal, like whoever wrote it tracked my every move. I stuffed it in my pocket, the riddle weighing me down as the school stirred.
Who sent this envelope, and why do they I feel they know me so well?