Kaiden knew something was wrong before Mara said a word.
It was in the way she looked at him—not openly suspicious, not cold, but measured. Like she was observing a painting she'd seen a hundred times before and had just noticed a line that didn't belong.
Breakfast passed in a blur, but her presence followed him all the way to campus, coiled tight in his chest.
Northbridge Academy buzzed with its usual morning chaos—voices echoing off stone walls, laughter spilling across the courtyard—but when Kaiden stepped through the gates, the noise faded into something distant and unreal.
Mara stood near the front steps.
She always stood there.
The realization hit him suddenly, sharply. The memories told him this was habit. She waited for him every morning, leaning casually against the railing like it was coincidence instead of routine.
Sunlight threaded through her dark hair, catching on the loose waves that brushed her shoulders. She wore confidence the way other people wore perfume—subtle, unmistakable. Her uniform was slightly altered, skirt hem adjusted just enough to break rules without consequence, sleeves rolled up as if she had more important things to do than follow them.
She looked like someone who had never questioned whether she belonged.
When she saw him, her lips curved into a smile—but it didn't reach her eyes right away.
"There you are," she said.
Not hey. Not morning.
There you are.
Kaiden felt exposed.
"You didn't answer my last message," she added, falling into step beside him as he approached.
"I thought I did."
She glanced at him sideways. "You sent three words."
His stomach dropped.
"That's… answering," he said carefully.
Mara hummed softly, noncommittal. She studied his face as they walked, gaze lingering longer than comfort allowed.
"You usually send voice notes," she said. "When you're tired."
Kaiden's steps faltered half a beat.
"I didn't feel like talking."
"That's new."
Not accusatory. Just factual.
They reached the lockers. Students flowed around them, but Kaiden felt strangely isolated, like he was standing under a spotlight only she could see.
Mara leaned against the metal beside him, arms crossed loosely. Up close, the details of her face sharpened—the faint freckle near her left eye, the thin scar across her knuckle, the way her lashes cast shadows when she narrowed her gaze.
"You hit your head or something?" she asked lightly.
His heart slammed.
"No."
"Because yesterday," she continued, voice casual, "you forgot my middle name."
Kaiden froze.
The memory surfaced too late.
"Mar—" He stopped himself. "It was loud. I didn't hear you."
She smiled.
It was not a forgiving smile.
"My middle name is Elise," she said gently. "You've known that since we were thirteen."
The space between them tightened.
"I've just had a lot on my mind," Kaiden said.
Mara nodded slowly, like she was adding another piece to a puzzle.
"Mm," she said. "You've also been writing with your left hand."
His breath caught.
"I—what?"
"In English class," she said. "You always write right-handed. You complained for weeks when you sprained your wrist sophomore year."
Kaiden's fingers curled unconsciously.
"I guess habits change."
She tilted her head. "Do they?"
The bell rang, shrill and abrupt.
Students groaned and scattered, but Mara didn't move right away.
"You feel different," she said quietly.
Not angry. Not scared.
Curious.
Kaiden searched her face for warmth, for reassurance—but found only watchfulness.
"I'm still me," he said.
Mara studied him for a long moment.
Then she smiled again—soft, affectionate, entirely convincing to anyone watching.
"Okay," she said. "If you say so."
She leaned in and kissed his cheek, lingering just a fraction too long.
But as she pulled away, she whispered, barely audible—
"Just don't lie to me."
She walked off before he could respond.
Kaiden stood there, heart pounding, the echo of her words ringing louder than the bell ever had.
Later, in class, he couldn't focus.
Every time he spoke, he wondered how his voice sounded to her. Every movement felt deliberate, monitored. When he laughed, it felt rehearsed. When he stayed quiet, it felt suspicious.
During group work, he glanced across the room.
Mara was watching him.
Not openly.
But every time he looked up, her gaze flicked away just a second too late.
She knows, he thought.
Or worse—
She was waiting to be sure.
And somewhere deep inside his chest, the fracture widened—not with fear of being exposed…
…but with the realization that the first person who might truly see him—
Was also the one with the most to lose.