The day ended before I realized it had started. That was a first.
Usually, days drag. But this one—this one just ended, quietly, before I even noticed. Like it had left a tingling sensation in your chest, like you'd won something.
And for the first time in a long while, Isabelle didn't feel like she was alone in her own story.
The halls buzzed. That constant hum of tired shoes, half-closed sketchbooks, and someone humming three steps behind. Someone laughing too loud in the stairwell. Someone else swore about a deadline that wasn't due until next week—probably a senior.
There was an energy—frayed but alive.
Isabelle stood by the bulletin board, pretending to read a poster she'd already seen.
It was about a "figure drawing marathon." Or maybe a "band concert."
Her eyes skimmed past the bold fonts, but nothing really landed.
What did land was the sound of Joanna's voice, sharp and smug as ever, cutting through the hallway chaos like a violin string snapping mid-song.
"You looked like you needed someone," Joanna said as she sidled up beside Isabelle, arms crossed, bag slung over one shoulder like she was born dramatic.
Isabelle chuckled. "Seems like you own this sentence."
She ignored it. "Anyway," she continued, "you'll miss me."
She said it like a threat. Or a dare.
Before Isabelle could think of a comeback that didn't sound stupid out loud, Joanna was already walking away. A perfectly timed exit.
Then came Lilith. Like moonlight after fireworks.
She didn't say anything at first.
Just nodded, soft and sure.
But her eyes lingered. Longer than they usually did.
"See you tomorrow," Isabelle said, not even thinking. Just feeling.
Lilith smiled—barely. But it reached her eyes.
"Lili! I'll be at the store. Catch up!" Joanna yelled from the exit, already halfway into the city light.
Lilith spared Isabelle one more glance, with a sweet smile, before following Joanna behind.
And that was it. They left.
And she stood there a second longer, watching the door they disappeared through.
The corners of her lips tugged upward, almost a smile.
Isabelle didn't even notice Damien until he yanked at her backpack—which was slung lazily over her shoulders—like a gremlin child.
"BOO!"
Isabelle blinked. Twice. She was still halfway in a daze.
He grinned—wild and unapologetic.
His blue-grey eyes squinting from the size of that smile.
"Oh. Guess you're the brave type," he said.
She let out a single breath of a laugh. More scoff than anything.
Was that supposed to be scary?
Damien stood there, grinning like he'd just pulled off the world's greatest prank.
"You didn't even flinch," he said, mock-disappointed.
"Should I have?" She raised an eyebrow, only half playing along.
"Well… yeah," he said, tugging at the strap again like a kid testing a slingshot. "I rehearsed that boo, you know."
"Felt unrehearsed," she said.
He snorted and looked off toward the window light filtering in.
"Anyway… Heading home? ...Did they leave already?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "And yeah, they did. At the store, I guess."
"Same. I mean, eventually. Gotta stop by the corner store. My fridge is just… sad." He made a face. "There's a single slice of cheese in there for dinner. It's haunting me."
"I don't think a single slice of cheese would count as dinner," she said, chuckling.
"Fine. I'll upgrade to two slices next time," he said, giving her a look of mock seriousness.
She just shook her head, still smiling.
He looked at her for a second, like he was about to say something else—but didn't.
"So… you walking?" he asked. "Like, actually walking?"
"Mhm."
"Cool. I'll, uh…" He pointed awkwardly with a thumb. "Walk that way then."
She just looked at him for a second. He was so awkward sometimes—not in a bad way though. Just weirdly endearing.
He held the pose a second too long, then dropped his hand with a shrug.
"Okay, I'll shut up now. See you tomorrow, Isabelle."
"Bye, Damien."
He jogged backwards for a few steps, then nearly tripped over his own shoe. He caught himself with a dramatic bow, like he meant it.
She shook my head.
He had no idea how ridiculous—or weirdly charming—he was.
****
The walk home was unusually relaxing.
She doesn't usually feel that way. But today… something felt soft. Kind. The kind of calm that makes you think, maybe this is what peace feels like.
The city had that early evening glow—the kind where buildings turn gold at the edges, like they're pretending to be gentler than they are. Shadows from bike racks stretched long across the sidewalk. Loose flyers fluttered in the breeze. Somewhere down the road, the smell of that same bakery she never remembered the name of drifted through the air.
The crosswalks blinked gently. The wind skimmed past her sleeves like it had nowhere else to be. Everything felt slower. Like she had more time than she knew what to do with.
At home, she kicked off her shoes by the door. Dropped her bag on the little hook that creaked if I hung it too hard. The light from the kitchen window painted long rectangles across the floor. She didn't turn on any lamps—she just stood there for a second, letting the stillness settle.
There were crumbs on the counter. She wiped them away without thinking.
Water boiled. She made tea—one of those floral kinds that she only drinks when she's in a particular mood. Isabelle wasn't exactly sure what mood she was in, exactly, but it felt like petals might help.
Isabelle brushed her hair by the window, watching headlights skim the walls across the street. She watered the cactus she'd bought from home. Changed into an oversized tee that reached past her knees.
She made instant noodles with a sunny-side-up egg and sat at the table with a quiet kind of hunger. The food was simple. But as she ate, she found herself thinking about lunch. About that little plastic tray, Joanna's barely whispered, "Here." About how Lilith, without even looking, slid her cup of jelly toward me, like she'd quietly made up her mind to share.
They hadn't said much. Neither had Isabelle. But she had felt… okay. Nice, even. Like being gently included.
After rinsing her plate, I padded back to my desk. The sketchbook was already open. Half a page filled with nonsense doodles from the day before—loops, faces, and a dramatic pigeon in sunglasses.
She sat. Picked up her pencil and paused.
And laughed. Just a little. One breath, low and warm through the nose.
Damien had forgotten his pencil pouch in an illustration orientation class. He'd looked so lost borrowing from Lilith's, like a squirrel trying to trade acorns for pens.
She shook her head.
She drew him—Damien, in stick figure form, with messy hair and way too many pencils stuffed into his pockets like weapons. I gave him a speech bubble that said, "Fear me. I'm armed with stationery."
Then Lilith—tiny and unreadable, quietly holding her tray.
Joanna—dramatically unimpressed as always.
And lastly, Isabell herself—watching them all from behind a juice box.
Just a silly comic. Nothing polished. Just enough to remember.
Once the house was quiet and everything felt still, she curled up in bed.
But she didn't sleep. Not yet.
Her eyes stayed open, tracing the faint glow from the curtain edge, while her mind wandered.
She lay still. The kind of still where your body feels heavy but your brain won't stop pacing.
And in her mind—Joanna, smug as sin. Hair perfect, eyebrows too powerful for this world.
"You'll miss me tomorrow," she had said.
God. I hated how right she probably was.
Then Lilith. Her gaze. That soft glance.
Like she saw something Isabelle herself didn't even know she was showing.
And Damien.
The human embodiment of a loose shoelace. All elbows and apologies. A crash in motion.
But somehow… endearing. Unironically.
She let out a small laugh into the dark. Just one.
Isabelle wasn't used to this. To people lingering after they left.
To warmth that didn't burn. To softness that didn't ask for anything.
But tonight, under her old blanket and a half-moon sky, Isabelle glowed.
Just a little. Like golden sparks in the darkness.