Chapter Two: Colors and Coffee
(Lyra's POV)
It's been a week since Saint Valley started to feel like a real place and not some dream I accidentally walked into.
The house is still mostly bare — white walls, blank corners. Like it's waiting for me to decide who I am before it chooses how to look.
I sit cross-legged in the middle of my room, a color chart spread out on the floor.
Maybe sage green? Or soft cream?
Or maybe it doesn't matter — maybe no color will make this feel like home.
"Lyra?" Mom's voice carries from the doorway. She leans against the frame, still in her work shirt, hair tied up. "You've been staring at that chart for half an hour."
"I'm… deciding."
She smiles. "You've always been indecisive with color. Remember the time you painted your sketchbook cover six different shades of blue?"
"Artistic experimentation," I say defensively.
She laughs, the sound light and rare. "Well, whenever you decide, I'll help. I'm not bad with a paint roller, you know."
"You're an architect, Mom. That's cheating."
"Occupational advantage." She winks, then heads back down the hall. "Dinner in an hour!"
At school, things are… better.
Soraya and Saphira have this contagious energy that drags you along whether you want to or not.
By lunch, I find myself automatically joining their table.
Saphira waves me over. "Lyra! We were just talking about you."
"Should I be worried?" I ask, setting down my tray.
Soraya grins. "No, we were saying you should join the art club. They meet every Thursday. You'd fit right in — paint-stained fingers and all."
"I don't know…"
Cassian looks up from his sandwich. "You should. They're chill. And they love new members."
Evan leans back in his chair, fork tapping his plate. "Yeah, especially ones who spill coffee on people their first day."
I roll my eyes. "Are you ever going to let that go?"
"Nope."
Saphira laughs. "Ignore him. He's like this with everyone."
"That's not true," Evan says. "I'm charming."
Soraya snorts. "Debatable."
Their banter makes me smile before I realize I'm smiling. It feels weird — like my face forgot how to.
Soraya leans closer, noticing a faint mark near my wrist as I reach for my drink. Her tone softens. "Hey, what happened here?"
I pull my sleeve down quickly. "Old accident. Art knives are dangerous."
Cassian's gaze flicks up, gentle but unreadable. "Happens to all of us," he says quietly, before changing the subject.
"Anyway," Saphira cuts in brightly, "we're going to Clover's Café after school. You should come."
"What's that?"
Soraya gasps. "You haven't been to Clover's? It's the hangout spot. Coffee, pastries, and the best pancakes in town."
Cassian adds, "It's also where half the student council pretends to study."
"Translation: where we gossip," Evan says.
I hesitate. I'm not used to being invited. "Um… sure," I say finally. "I'll come."
Clover's Café sits on the corner of Main Street — all warm lights, mismatched mugs, and indie music humming from hidden speakers. The air smells like vanilla and espresso and something sweet I can't name.
Soraya orders for everyone like she owns the place.
"Four iced lattes and one caramel macchiato," she tells the barista. "Lyra's new — she gets the macchiato."
I blink. "How did you—"
"You just seem like a caramel person," she says with a shrug. "Sweet but caffeine-dependent."
We grab a booth near the window. I sit between Saphira and Cassian while Evan sprawls across from me, smirking over his cup like he's in on some private joke.
"So, Lyra," Saphira starts, "your mom's an architect, right?"
"Yeah. She's working on some new development near the lake."
"That's cool," Soraya says. "Mine's a nurse. She works night shifts, so she basically thinks I live at school."
"I think my mom prefers her blueprints to people," I joke lightly. "But… she's trying. We both are."
Cassian smiles. "She sounds like you."
I raise a brow. "How so?"
"You both overthink every line before drawing it.Right?"
I look down at my cup. He's not wrong.
Evan nudges Cassian. "Look at you being poetic again. Careful, man, she might actually think you have feelings."
Cassian kicks his leg under the table. "Says the guy who hasn't passed a single math test this year."
"Hey," Evan protests, "I passed one."
"Barely," Soraya mutters.
"Fine," Evan says, turning to me. "If you're struggling in any class, tell Cassian. Without him, half the football team would've failed already."
I laugh. "You tutor?"
Cassian shrugs modestly. "Something like that."
The conversation drifts into jokes and stories — about teachers, old memories, and how Aveline once convinced them to wear matching outfits to a dance.
I listen, feeling the warmth of it all — the laughter, the gentle teasing, the way they fill space so easily.
For the first time in a long time, I don't feel like a ghost in my own life.
That night, I sit in my room again, staring at the color chart.
Maybe pale yellow. Maybe blue. Maybe something new — something not from before.
My phone buzzes.
Soraya: "We're helping you paint this weekend. No arguments."
Saphira: "Bring snacks."
Cassian: "Ignore her. We'll be there."
I smile, typing back:
Lyra: "Fine. But I pick the playlist."
And just like that, the white walls don't seem so intimidating anymore.