April sunlight spilled across the desks, warm enough to make everyone a little lazy. The fans groaned overhead, half-working, half-complaining.
Riya sprawled over her notebook. "I swear, if summer gets any hotter, I'm dropping out."
"You say that every exam week," Siena said, sliding into her seat.
Trent leaned over from the next row. "And yet she never does. Drama queen."
Riya shot him a look. "Says the guy who fainted during morning assembly."
"I didn't faint," Trent argued. "I was meditating vertically."
The group burst out laughing. Even Siena—usually the calm one—covered her mouth to hide a grin. Around them, a few juniors turned to stare, and someone whispered, "Those three again."
The laughter died only when the class monitor stormed in with a stack of worksheets. "Group project, everyone. Partners are random."
Riya groaned. "Please not another stranger. I can't carry another lazy genius."
Siena's name was read—paired with a quiet girl from another section. Relief. She liked Riya, but sometimes new people brought unexpected peace.
Lunch arrived with noise. Desks pushed together, snack packets everywhere, the familiar chaos of friendship.
Riya scrolled through her phone. "You guys ever notice we spend half our lives waiting for someone to text first?"
"Only you," Siena said, opening her lunchbox.
Riya gasped. "You're telling me you never wait for someone?"
Trent smirked. "She means the new guy. Third row, last bench."
Siena nearly dropped her spoon. "He has a name, you know."
Riya grinned. "Oh? So you do know his name."
Siena glared at her, cheeks pink. "I meant teachers probably do."
They laughed again, but the sound dimmed when a gust of wind brushed through the open window. A cherry-blossom petal drifted onto Siena's desk, landing on her notebook like a signature.
She picked it up absently—and noticed a small folded paper beneath her lunchbox.
Riya leaned closer. "Another one? You're popular lately."
Siena opened it slowly.
Just two words: Don't forget.
Her fingers tightened around the page.
"Okay, that's officially creepy," Riya said. "Who keeps sending those?"
Trent tried to laugh it off. "Maybe it's a prank."
But Siena wasn't so sure. Her gaze lifted towardthe back of the room, where sunlight painted the last bench gold. Empty again.
Something flickered at the edge of her memory—his voice, soft and certain: 'Maybe take a breath before class starts.'
She folded the note, slipping it into her pocket. "It's probably nothing."
Riya studied her for a moment. "You always say that right before it turns into something."
Siena smiled faintly. "Then maybe I should stop saying it."
Outside, another breeze carried petals through the room. The bell rang, sharp and familiar, yet Siena's thoughts drifted far beyond the classroom—toward something that felt like it had started long before today.