The lights in Celine's apartment filtering through the sheer curtains of her bedroom was soft and golden, like a gentle whisper coaxing her awake. Celine stirred under the satin sheets, her body reluctant to obey the calls of morning. She groaned quietly and pulled the covers over her head, burrowing deeper into the warm, scented cocoon of her bed.
She didn't want to go to school.
Her limbs felt heavy, weighed down by a strange exhaustion that had nothing to do with her sleep. Even though she had slept soundly, it felt like her mind had run a marathon. The dream she had last night… it haunted her still.
She turned her head slightly and peeked at the phone on her bedside drawer. Just as expected, two missed calls—one from Cathy, the other from Cindy. The pestering had already begun.
"Ugh…" she muttered, rubbing her eyes and sitting up slowly.
She couldn't let them start flooding her phone with voice notes and sarcastic emojis. She had to move, no matter how drained she felt.
Dragging herself out of bed, she walked groggily to the bathroom, yawning along the way. She switched on the lights, squinting as the brightness flared to life, then stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was bare and calm, but her eyes held a glint of something restless—something searching.
She turned on the shower and stepped under the cascade of warm water. It poured over her like a spell, wrapping her in steam and heat. As she closed her eyes and let the droplets trace the curve of her spine, the dream returned—vivid and unsettling.
She saw him again.
The boy.
His face was clear this time—strikingly so. Smooth skin, tousled black hair that fell over his forehead, eyes that weren't quite warm yet weren't cold either… And the strange, quiet sadness that clung to him like a shadow.
Why did his face feel so… familiar?
She furrowed her brow, the water soaking her hair and running down her neck. She searched her memory, sifting through names, classmates, strangers on the street, people she had met at her father's company dinners, church, social events, and even random faces she'd glimpsed online.
But no match.
She couldn't find him anywhere in her recollections. Yet her heart pulsed with an unsettling certainty—she had seen him before. Somewhere. Somehow.
"F*CK"!!
Frustration welled in her chest like hot air trapped in a balloon. She let out an angry exhale and began scratching her scalp with sudden vigor, her fingers running through her hair as if they could claw out the fog clouding her memory.
She sighed sharply, rinsed off, and stepped out of the shower.
The bathroom mirror was fogged, but she wiped it with a towel and stared into her own eyes again. "Why are you still thinking about him?" she whispered to herself. "He's just a dream…"
But something deep inside whispered back, No, he's more than that.
After drying herself off with a soft lavender-scented towel, she plugged in the hair dryer and began to gently dry her hair, her fingers caressing the strands with practiced care. The motion was slow, almost therapeutic. Once dry, she took her favorite brush and combed it neatly, guiding it into a clean, graceful ponytail. She disliked letting her hair fall freely down her back—it was too wild, too much. A ponytail was elegant, regal, controlled. Just like she had to be.
Then came her uniform.
A soft white blouse with perfectly fitted sleeves and a pleated blue skirt that shimmered slightly when caught in the light. A thin, silver-lined tie sat neatly at her collar, secured with a clip shaped like a tiny butterfly. Over the blouse, she wore a deep blue blazer tailored just right to hug her form—not too tight, not too loose. The outfit framed her like a sculpture: tall, poised, unmistakably elite.
She added pearl earrings, lip balm, and a light spray of perfume before slipping into glossy, heeled loafers that clicked satisfyingly on the marble floor.
Perfect.
She walked out of her room and down the staircase, where the family's chauffeur was already waiting by the car. He nodded at her and opened the door silently, and she slid in, legs crossed, hands on her lap.
As the vehicle pulled out of the driveway, she stared out the tinted window, watching the world blur by. Trees, houses, clouds. None of it caught her attention. Her mind was still caught in the dream. Or perhaps, the memory.
She sighed again. "This is going to be a long day," she murmured.
And she still had no idea that the boy she dreamt of was closer than she thought.
---
Meanwhile ZHANE ..
The ceiling above him was cracked and discolored, one corner peeling where the leak had been years ago. Zhane lay still on the old mattress in the corner of the room, one arm resting on his forehead, eyes locked on nothing. His room smelled faintly of dust and antiseptic, and the air was thick with heat, broken only by the small fan spinning lazily in the corner.
He hadn't slept much.
His mind had been too busy replaying what had happened at the hospital.
The pain had been unbearable, but he'd forced himself to act calm, to be numb. That was his talent—masking. Pretending. Hiding. He had learned that from a young age. He'd quietly asked one of the nurses passing by to help find his phone, and she'd returned with it a few minutes later, offering a small smile before disappearing into the white hallways.
He had thanked her and left.
Now here he was, lying in the house he wished wasn't his home, in the room that barely qualified as a sanctuary.
He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling slowly, not from peace—but from anticipation. Something had changed. He could feel it.
A small ping broke the silence. His phone buzzed once on the dusty wooden table beside his bed.
He didn't move at first. The room returned to silence.
Then, he shifted slowly, reaching over to pick up the phone.
1 new message.
From: Pristine High Academic Institute – Admin Office
His eyes narrowed as he tapped it open.
The message read :
Dear Mr. Zhane Willows,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been admitted into Pristine High Institute under a full academic scholarship, having excelled in our competitive entrance examination. As both a day and boarding school, your residency has been approved if you intend to move in, and we look forward to having you join our prestigious student body. Kindly report to the Admissions Hall on Monday at 8:00 AM with the necessary documents and items listed in the attached file.
He sat up sharply.
He read it again. And then again.
His lips parted in disbelief, before a smile began to stretch slowly across his face—a real smile, one that touched his eyes.
He had made it.
He was getting out.
No more tiptoeing around his uncle's rage. No more sneaking out to study. No more pretending not to exist.
Pristine High was more than just a school—it was an escape for him .
He exhaled deeply and let his body fall back onto the bed. His heart felt light, like a burden had lifted. The weight he carried since the day his parents died, since he moved in with his uncle, had shifted, just a little.
"Sometimes it's good to be brilliant," he whispered to himself, eyes closing in contentment.
He would finally be free, or so he thought.
He lay there, thinking of what he'd pack, what the school would be like, what kind of people he'd meet. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to imagine a future he actually wanted.
He would wait until his uncle returned home. Then he'd break the news and be done with him forever.
He smiled again, pulling his blanket close, already picturing himself walking through the gates of Pristine High, breathing in new air, walking among students who didn't know him, who hadn't seen him suffer.
If only he knew what was waiting for him.