The hallways of Star Academy smelled like new money and citrus-scented ambition.
Marble floors, chandelier lighting, and students who walked like they owned stock portfolios. Jack felt like a coffee stain.
He kept his hoodie on, even though it was technically against the dress code.
Above him, a banner read:
"Star Academy: Cultivating the Leaders of Tomorrow."
He muttered, "Cool. I'm here to cultivate my survival instinct."
As he passed through the main corridor, eyes down, he collided—full force—with a wall.
Except it spoke.
"Oh! You must be the new scholarship student." A woman in her forties stared down at him, clipboard in hand, lips pursed like she was bracing for disappointment.
Jack blinked. "Uh. Sorry. I'm new. I didn't see you there. I mean, I saw you now. Obviously. Just—late sighting."
The woman raised an eyebrow.
"I'm Jack Hayes," he added, voice cracking like a broken radio. "Statistically average height. Definitely not blind."
"Principal Lorne," she said, not offering a smile. "You're in Class 3-A. Advanced stream. We expect focus, discipline, and good clothes... follow me."
Jack nodded. "Right. I'll get some of that."
She turned without another word.
She didn't laugh. Not even a blink.
They reached the door labelled Class 3-A—just in time for the teacher inside to spot them and wave cheerily.
"Oh, Principal Lorne! Is this our new student?"
"Yes," she said crisply. "Jack Hayes. He's on the academic excellence scholarship. Try to keep him challenged."
Jack offered a weak, haunted smile to the class.
A few students glanced up. One of them turned slowly.
And just like that, Jack stepped into the classroom like someone walking into an ambush. Calm on the outside. Internal screaming on the inside.
Rows of pristine desks. Tall windows. Students already seated—perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect everything.
He barely took two steps in before his heart stalled.
There she was.
Tyla Maris.
Again.
Front row. Elbows on the desk, leaning slightly toward a girl beside her, laughing softly at something he couldn't hear. Her laugh hadn't changed—it still had that weightless, unbothered rhythm. But the rest of her? Changed completely.
Gone were the braces. The cotton candy hair. The oversized hoodies and untied sneakers. Now she looked like someone who belonged in a catalogue for overachieving perfection. Effortlessly polished. Unbothered. Out of reach.
Jack froze. Please, no.
It wasn't just that she was at the same school. That was already bad enough. No—this was worse. This was her sitting in his class. His space. His one safe corner of the universe, now officially ruined by fate's cruel sense of humour.
He shuffled to the only empty seat behind her, doing his best impression of someone with no soul, no history, and definitely no connection to the girl in front of him.
He was almost in the clear.
Then she turned.
Just her head. Casual. Slow.
Their eyes met.
And it was instant. Like the air itself stopped functioning properly.
Jack's entire bloodstream turned to static.
Tyla tilted her head slightly, just… trying to remember.
Jack yanked his gaze away and stared at his desk like it contained life advice.
She remembers me.
She remembers something.
Not who he was. Not what he did. But the awkwardness—that weird, panicked meeting at the gate. That moment where he went full social malfunction and called himself "statistically average."
Now she was probably replaying it. Putting it together.
And he couldn't breathe.
He slouched lower, wishing he could evaporate.
Of all the classes. Of all the rooms. Of all the lives I could've lived. Why this one? Why her?
He wasn't ready for this.
Not for this ghost of a rejection that never really stopped haunting him.
And definitely not for the chance that Tyla Maris—the girl who unknowingly shattered him years ago might start to recognise him.