Zen — The Boy Who Calls It Normal
Zen woke before his alarm.
That alone irritated him.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the restless feeling to fade. It didn't. Instead, it settled deeper, a quiet pressure behind his ribs.
He lifted his hand, palm facing the light.
Nothing looked different.
Yet warmth lingered there—faint, familiar, unreasonable.
"Stop," he muttered to himself. "You're overthinking again."
Zen wasn't someone who believed in signs.
Or fate.
Or invisible threads pulling people together.
Life, to him, was simple. Work hard. Stay kind. Keep moving.
He swung his legs off the bed and grabbed his bag.
Classes.
Practice.
A regular day.
Still, as he stepped outside, the sensation followed him—steady now, almost patient.
Like something had already decided where he was headed.
Liya — The Girl Who Feels Too Much
Liya sat in front of her sketchbook, pencil hovering uselessly above the page.
The paper was empty.
So was her focus.
She pressed the pencil down, forced a line.
It felt wrong.
She closed her eyes.
And immediately—
Wind tore through her senses.
Salt filled her lungs.
A presence stood close enough to touch.
Waiting.
Her breath hitched as she snapped her eyes open.
Her room was silent. Safe. Ordinary.
Her heart was not.
"This isn't about Zen," she whispered, even as she said his name in her mind.
What she felt wasn't a crush.
It wasn't longing.
It was grief without a memory.
A knock came at the door.
"Liya!" Zen's voice followed, warm and effortless. "We're going to be late."
Her pulse steadied instantly.
"I'm coming," she replied, surprised at how quickly the heaviness eased.
She grabbed her bag and opened the door.
Zen smiled at her—and just like that, the ache softened.
He didn't erase it.
He balanced it.
As if her heart had learned to adjust itself around him.
And that scared her more than the pain ever had.
Wynn — The Man Who Refuses to Name It
Wynn Arden had always trusted control.
Control over his work.
Control over his emotions.
Control over the silence that followed him everywhere.
He sat at his desk reviewing files, posture immaculate, voice calm as he corrected a junior doctor beside him.
"Adjust the dosage. Monitor overnight," he said gently.
"Yes, Doctor."
When the door closed, Wynn leaned back and exhaled slowly.
His chest felt… unsettled.
Not tight.
Not anxious.
Aware.
His pulse rose for no clinical reason, then eased only when he consciously slowed his breathing.
This wasn't stress.
This was recognition.
His fingers brushed the wooden bracelet on his wrist—a family relic, older than any explanation he'd been given.
"Soon," he murmured, though the word slipped out without intent.
Soon what?
Soon who?
He stood, gaze drifting to the window, toward the university grounds visible in the distance.
Something there was waiting.
And for the first time in his carefully ordered life, Wynn suspected—
It wasn't waiting for permission.
Where the World Almost Changes
That afternoon, the campus courtyard buzzed with voices.
Zen laughed loudly at something Alex said, sunlight catching his expression, easy and open.
The sound traveled farther than it should have.
Liya, standing near the vending machine, froze.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, sudden and sharp.
She turned without thinking.
At the same moment, a small group of visiting alumni crossed the courtyard.
Among them—
Wynn Arden.
He hadn't planned to stop.
He hadn't planned to look.
But the instant Zen laughed—
Wynn's steps slowed.
Just half a second.
Enough.
Something pulled tight inside him, breath catching as if a missing note had finally been struck.
He turned—
Too late.
Zen was already walking away, disappearing between the trees.
Wynn stood still, heart beating harder than it should.
None of them spoke.
None of them truly saw.
Yet something ancient shifted—
not gently,
not patiently.
The distance between them had never been smaller.
And the next time their paths crossed—
They wouldn't pass unnoticed.