Night had fallen over Whitmore Academy like a thick velvet curtain, muting the usual late-evening chatter that drifted through the dormitory halls. The moonlight filtered through narrow windows, casting cold, fractured geometries onto the tiled floor. Jasmine walked down the hallway with slow, deliberate steps, her pulse hammering an uneven rhythm against her ribs. She had made the decision hours earlier—she needed to confront Lisa, to break through the silence that had grown between them, to salvage whatever remained before the rumors swallowed them whole.
Her breath fogged slightly in the chilled air as she stopped outside Lisa's door. For a moment she hesitated, fingers hovering above the wood, her heartbeat tightening her throat. Her mind replayed every strained glance, every unanswered message, every second of distance widening between them throughout the day. She inhaled sharply, steadied herself, and knocked.
There was no immediate answer. Jasmine's stomach twisted.
She knocked again, more firmly.
This time, the lock clicked. The door opened just enough for Lisa to look at her. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion—red, swollen, shadowed. She had been crying.
"Lisa… can I come in?" Jasmine's voice was low, controlled, but heavy with urgency.
Lisa hesitated, then opened the door fully. Jasmine stepped inside.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of Lisa's desk lamp. The bed was unmade, sketchbooks scattered across the floor, a clear sign of the emotional storm that had passed through here earlier. Lisa moved back to her desk, arms crossing instinctively, as if bracing herself.
Jasmine closed the door quietly behind her.
"Lisa, I can't let this distance grow," she said, voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "We need to talk."
Lisa let out a trembling breath. "I don't know what to say anymore, Jasmine. I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling like I'm losing you."
"You're not—"
"Please," Lisa interrupted, lifting a hand. "Don't say I'm not losing you when I can see it. The way you look at her…" Her voice cracked, brittle and sharp. "You think I don't see it? Every time she walks into the room, you light up."
Jasmine felt the words land like blows. She took a step forward.
"Lisa, I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear it. What's happening with the rumors—it's gotten out of control. But you and I… we're real. You matter. I don't want to lose you."
Lisa stared at her, torn between anger and an ache she could no longer hide. Tears glimmered on her lower lashes.
"But you don't deny it," Lisa whispered. "You don't deny what's in your eyes when you look at her."
Silence.
Jasmine opened her mouth, but no words came out. Because denying it—lying—felt wrong. And Lisa saw the truth in her silence.
Lisa swallowed hard, a single tear falling down her cheek. "That's what hurts most."
Jasmine felt her breath falter, chest tightening painfully. "Lisa… I care about you deeply. You know that."
"But not the same way." Lisa's voice was quiet, defeated. "And I don't know if I can keep standing next to someone who's already halfway gone."
The words pierced Jasmine deeper than she expected. "I'm not gone."
"Aren't you?" Lisa whispered.
Jasmine stepped closer, refusing to let the conversation collapse into despair. "I am here. Right now. With you. And I'm fighting for us—"
Lisa shook her head, eyes glistening. "Then tell me. Tell me that she means nothing."
Jasmine froze.
Lisa waited. The silence grew thick, suffocating.
"Jasmine… please." Lisa's voice cracked. "Tell me something I can hold on to."
Jasmine's breath trembled. She could feel the words forming, the truth rising like a tide she couldn't hold back. "Lisa… I don't want to lie to you."
Lisa closed her eyes. A long, trembling exhale left her chest.
"That's enough," she said softly. "That's all I needed to know."
Jasmine felt herself crumble inside. "Lisa, don't do this. Not like this."
Lisa wiped her cheek, attempting a weak, broken smile. "I need space. I need to understand where I fit—if I fit at all. Right now… every time I look at you, I feel like I'm standing in a shadow I can't escape."
Jasmine reached out, but Lisa stepped back instinctively.
"Please," Lisa whispered. "Just… give me time."
Jasmine's hand fell uselessly to her side. Her throat burned with words she could not form. "I'm scared to lose you," she said finally.
Lisa swallowed hard. "I'm scared too. But maybe we need fear to finally understand who we are."
For a moment, neither moved.
The room felt smaller, the weight of unspoken truths pressing heavily against them.
Finally, Jasmine nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll give you time. But I'm not giving up."
Lisa looked away, blinking back new tears. "Goodnight, Jasmine."
Jasmine forced herself to turn, to walk toward the door even as every instinct begged her to stay, to fight harder, to rewrite the moment. She opened the door, stepped into the dark hallway, and closed it gently behind her.
The instant the door clicked shut, Jasmine's composure cracked. Her breath hitched, and she pressed her back against the cold wall, blinking hard to keep her own tears at bay. The hallway around her felt too long, too silent, echoing with the tremor of everything she had failed to say.
She exhaled shakily and pushed herself forward. She refused to collapse. Not here.
As she reached the end of the corridor, she saw a figure standing by the window: Nathalie.
Jasmine froze, heart stopping for a moment.
Nathalie stepped out of the shadows, her expression unreadable, her presence as steady and composed as always. But her eyes—her eyes revealed a tension she had fought to hide all day.
"You spoke to her," Nathalie said quietly. Not a question. A statement.
"Yes," Jasmine answered, unable to hide the tremble in her voice.
"How did it go?"
Jasmine hesitated, then spoke with painful honesty. "It hurt. For both of us."
Nathalie's gaze softened slightly. "Honesty often hurts. But you did the right thing."
Jasmine nodded, though her throat tightened. "I don't feel like I did."
Nathalie took a step closer—close enough for Jasmine to feel the warmth radiating from her. "You're navigating chaos, Jasmine. And you're doing it with more courage than you realize."
Jasmine looked away, emotions swirling dangerously. "The rumors… Lisa… you… I'm losing control of everything."
Nathalie's voice lowered, steady and grounding. "Then let me help you regain it."
Jasmine's breath caught in her chest. Nathalie's calm confidence washed over her like a force she couldn't resist, pulling her back from the edge.
"Tomorrow," Nathalie continued, "you will face the academy again. And you will not face it alone."
Jasmine met her gaze. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," Nathalie replied without hesitation. "I'm sure."
In the dim hallway, beneath the cold wash of moonlight, Jasmine felt a shift—a dangerous, magnetic shift. The fracture of one bond, the intensifying pull of another. She was standing at a crossroads she had tried desperately to avoid, and her next steps would define everything.
Nathalie stepped back slightly, reestablishing the professional distance with visible effort. "Go rest. You'll need your strength."
Jasmine nodded, though exhaustion weighed heavily on her. "Goodnight, Nathalie."
"Goodnight, Jasmine."
As Jasmine walked away, she felt Nathalie's gaze lingering on her, a silent current tying them together despite everything that threatened to pull them apart.
Tonight had been a fracture.
Tomorrow would be the fire.