Chapter Two
The rain hasn't stopped. It's softer now, but steady, a constant whisper against the window that feels like it's trying to coax me into sleep.
But I can't sleep.
I'm still sitting on my bed, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves bunched around my fists. The earrings sit on the blanket in front of me, catching the muted lamplight like drops of blood frozen in glass.
I should put them away. Hide them. Forget this whole thing.
But the moment I try to picture myself tossing them into my desk drawer, I feel… hollow. Like I'd be shoving away the only thing in my life that could be mine.
It's not just about Chloé.
It's about the way people's eyes pass right over me in the hallway. The way whispers swell like a tide behind my back. The way even teachers sometimes hesitate before saying my name, like they expect me to mess up just by existing.
Alya's the only person today who actually looked at me like I mattered. And she barely knows me.
I glance toward my sketchbook on the desk. My half-finished designs are still scattered there, lines smudged from rushing to finish them in between homework and bakery chores. No one's ever seen them. No one's ever asked.
The earrings are still there. Waiting.
---
The house is quiet. Downstairs, the hum of the bakery's refrigerators is the only sound. My parents probably went back to mixing dough and shaping pastries. That's their whole life. Their whole dream.
I used to think it'd be mine, too. But standing behind the counter, smiling politely while people barely glance at you, handing over something you worked hard on like it's nothing? That's not what I want for the rest of my life.
I want to be seen.
I want people to stop walking past me like I'm invisible.
I want to walk into a room and feel… big. Powerful. Untouchable.
---
The rain picks up for a moment, a heavier rhythm against the glass. I think of the girl in the alley — the way her voice wrapped around me, not warm exactly, but… steady. Certain.
She didn't plead with me. She didn't tell me I could be strong if I tried. She told me I would be, if I accepted what she offered.
No one's ever looked at me like that before.
And I don't even know her name.
---
I lie back on my bed, holding the earrings above me. The black spots gleam.
What if this is dangerous?
What if this is a trick?
What if it changes me into something I can't come back from?
But then — what if it's the only way to stop feeling like this?
I think of Chloé's smirk. Of Sabrina's fleeting look of pity. Of the way everyone else looked away, like I was already beneath their notice.
And the worst part? They weren't wrong.
I close my fist around the earrings.
---
Downstairs, a chair scrapes against the floor. My parents' muffled voices drift up — soft, concerned.
"First days are tough," Mom says.
"She's strong," Dad answers, but his voice wavers.
I don't feel strong. Not yet. But maybe I could.
I slip the earrings into the small zippered pocket inside my bag. It's not the same as putting them on, but it's a step. I tell myself it's just to keep them safe. That I haven't decided anything yet.
But deep down, I know.
The girl in the alley was right.
---
That night, I dream of standing at the top of the Eiffel Tower. The city stretches below me — not the dull, gray Paris I know, but a glittering one, sharp and alive, as if every light is burning just for me.
The wind whips my hair around my face, and I'm laughing — no, I'm grinning, wide and unafraid.
Somewhere below, Chloé's looking up at me.
And she's the one who feels small.
I wake with my heart pounding.
The earrings are still in my bag.
And I think I already know what I'm going to do.