Sam's POV
The air felt heavier than usual that morning.
Sam sat on the edge of her bed, the faint hum of the ceiling fan brushing through her hair like a whisper from a world she didn't quite belong to. The memories from last night still echoed in her mind—Liam's quiet, unreadable expression in the hallway, the fragments of a dream where fire painted her house in orange and red again, and the voice… that haunting, inexplicable voice that always came when she needed it the least.
"It wasn't your fault."
She could still hear it. Soft, steady, painfully kind.
But guilt wasn't something that just vanished because someone—or something—told her to let it go.
Her gaze shifted to the small framed photograph on the table beside her bed. Aunt Dena and Aunt Luna stood smiling, holding a much younger version of her—her hair in messy braids, cheeks sunburned from laughter. It was before the fire, before everything burned down and left only ashes and questions. She hadn't told them about what happened at school yet. About detention. About Liam Fernandez and his infuriating smirk that could slice through her calm like glass.
If she told them, she knew the worry that would cloud their faces. Dena's gentle disappointment. Luna's protective anger. No—she couldn't add to their burdens. They had already lost enough.
With a deep sigh, Sam pulled her blazer tighter and stepped out of the room. The morning light filtered through the thin curtains, scattering across the old wooden floors of the Rivera house. It smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread—comforting, familiar, grounding.
Aunt Luna was sitting at the dining table, scrolling through her tablet, glasses perched at the edge of her nose. "Morning, sweetheart," she said without looking up. "You're leaving early again?"
Sam hesitated, sliding into the seat across from her. "Uh, yeah. We have a project to start today. Zoe wants to get it done before the week ends."
Aunt Dena looked up from the sink, her hands covered in soap suds. "Zoe—that's your new friend, right?" Her smile was soft, like sunlight after rain. "It's good you're spending time with someone who seems nice."
Sam nodded, pretending to sip from her cup. The warmth did little to melt the cold weight in her chest."She's… really kind," Sam said, meaning it. "And funny. Not like most people at school."
Aunt Luna chuckled. "I'm just glad someone's breaking that quiet shell of yours. Maybe one day, you'll even tell us about this mysterious project of yours."
Sam forced a laugh, but inside, her thoughts were tangled. She wished she could tell them everything—the detention, the tension with Liam, the strange whisper that seemed to know her guilt better than she did. But something inside her whispered not yet. Like she wasn't ready to unravel that part of her world.
When she reached school, the same restless hum filled the air. Students laughed, exchanged notes, gossiped about weekend plans. Sam walked through the hallway, her books clutched close, her mind far away. Every corridor seemed to echo with pieces of yesterday's thoughts.
She passed by the notice board when her steps faltered. Someone had pinned a paper with faint charcoal smudges—lines that looked like burning silhouettes, drawn in haste but with purpose. The edges were singed, as if burned deliberately. And right in the corner, in thin handwriting, it read:
"We all burn for something, don't we?"
Her heart froze.
The handwriting was eerily familiar—not Liam's, not Zoe's. But there was something about it that stirred the shadows of memory. She reached out to touch it, but a voice snapped her out of the trance.
"Pretty dark for a Monday morning, don't you think?"
Sam turned around sharply. Liam Fernandez leaned against the wall a few steps away, his hands tucked casually into his pockets, eyes glinting under the dim hallway light. He wasn't smiling—but there was that same unreadable tension between his brows.
"I didn't think you were the artistic type," Sam muttered.
"I'm not." He stepped closer, gaze flicking to the drawing. "But that's not mine."
"Of course it isn't," she said quickly, defensive without meaning to be.
Liam arched an eyebrow. "You sound like you wish it was."
Sam bit the inside of her cheek. "You think too highly of yourself."
For a brief moment, neither of them spoke. The sound of students faded into the background. Just silence. Tense, unyielding silence.Then Liam looked at her again—longer this time, as if he was searching for something in her expression that even she didn't know was there.
"You've been quiet lately," he said finally, his tone softer. "Even quieter than usual."
"Maybe I just learned when not to talk."
"Or maybe you're hiding something."
Sam's heart stuttered. His words felt too close, too sharp. She turned away, clutching her notebook tighter."Believe what you want, Liam. You always do."
She walked off before he could respond, her steps echoing down the hall. But even as she tried to push his words away, they stuck. Like a mirror she didn't want to look into.
By the time she reached class, Zoe was already there—bright as ever, waving like sunshine cutting through fog. "Sam! Over here!"
Sam smiled faintly and sat beside her. Zoe's warmth was contagious, even on days when her thoughts were shadows."You look like you didn't sleep," Zoe whispered, leaning closer. "Rough night?"
"Something like that," Sam said, scribbling random doodles in her notebook.
Zoe tilted her head, her ocean-blue eyes soft with concern. "You sure you're okay?"
Sam nodded, but her throat felt dry. "Yeah. Just tired."
Zoe didn't push, but she didn't believe her either. Instead, she reached out, placing a hand over Sam's. "You don't always have to pretend you're fine, you know."
Something about that broke the fragile wall holding her together. For a moment, Sam wanted to tell her everything—the whispers, the guilt, the dreams of fire—but the words never came. Instead, she whispered, almost inaudibly, "I just… wish things made sense again."
Zoe squeezed her hand. "Maybe they will. Just not all at once."
Outside the classroom window, a wind blew through the trees. Sam watched as the leaves danced—gold and green, twisting and tumbling—reminding her of the night she watched flames devour her home.
Her vision blurred.
"It wasn't your fault."
The voice again. Soft, certain. But now it sounded closer. Louder. Almost… inside her.
Her hand trembled slightly. Zoe didn't notice—she was laughing at something the teacher said—but Sam felt her world tilt for a second, like the ground beneath her feet wasn't real.
Liam's POV
He noticed the change.
Sam Rivera was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that wasn't peace—it was the kind that built walls and left people wondering what hid behind them. She didn't meet his eyes anymore, not since that morning in the hallway. And for reasons he couldn't explain, it bothered him.
He told himself he didn't care. He told himself she was just another classmate. But then why did he keep noticing the way her fingers trembled when she turned pages? Or how her gaze sometimes drifted to nothing—like she was listening to something no one else could hear?
Liam leaned back in his chair, pretending to focus on the lesson. But his thoughts were far from it.His own house had been chaos last night—his father, Alexander Fernandez, had returned from another business trip, and with him came the thick tension of expectations and silence. Victoria's sharp comments hadn't helped. They rarely did.
He'd gone to bed wondering if maybe he was turning into his father—cold, distant, mechanical. The thought made his stomach twist.
Now, watching Sam struggle with whatever storm lived behind her calm eyes, something stirred in him. A strange mix of guilt and protectiveness. The last time he'd felt that was… years ago. When his mother was still alive.
He sighed, tapping his pen against the desk.Maybe he was just imagining things. Maybe Sam didn't need anyone to understand her. She had Zoe now—and that seemed enough.
But as the bell rang and students poured out, he caught sight of her again—standing by the window, sunlight painting her hair in gold, her gaze far away.
And for a second, just one, she looked… lost.
Liam's chest tightened.
He didn't say anything. He just watched, silently, as Sam turned and walked away—like a ghost carrying the weight of every unspoken word in the world.
Author's POV
The shadows lingered, wrapping around her like an old friend.Sam didn't know why she kept hearing that voice, or why it felt so familiar. But each time it came, it took away a little of her pain… and replaced it with something deeper. A connection she couldn't name.
Maybe guilt wasn't her punishment. Maybe it was her path.And somewhere, unseen, the voice whispered again—
"Soon, you'll understand why."
The day carried on as if nothing had changed. But something had.And it was only the beginning.