Ariana never remembered the moment she woke, only the feeling that dragged her up from sleep long before morning. A throb beneath her ribs, a soft echo pulsing through her bones, as if her heart had whispered a secret she wasn't supposed to hear.
Then the silence returned, heavy and familiar.
Her alarm clock hadn't even rung yet. It glowed faintly on her bedside table, its red digits slicing through the darkness. 4:47 a.m.
Again.
She rubbed her eyes and sat up slowly, trying to shake off the remnants of the nightmare she couldn't fully recall. She never remembered the images, only the sensations: running, fear, someone calling her name, something chasing her through shadows that felt too real for dreams. Sometimes she woke with her pulse racing. Sometimes with her fingers balled so tightly her nails left half-moon marks on her palms.
Sometimes she woke already crying.
But she never told anyone. Not her parents, not the school counselor who once asked if she was "struggling with anything emotional," and definitely not her two eight-year-old siblings who would worry too much.
She swung her legs out of bed, letting the cool air of her room settle around her. Her sanctuary was warm and delicately arranged, walls lined with shelves of fantasy novels, soft lighting, a handmade dreamcatcher her sibling Lina had insisted would "trap the scary stuff," and an organized desk no one but Ariana ever touched.
She liked order. She liked calm. She liked anything that made sense.
Her nightmares did not.
She sat at the edge of her bed, breathing deeply. The pressure behind her ribs, the strange, echoing pulse, gradually eased until it faded completely. Only then did she stand, moving quietly so she wouldn't wake the twins. The wooden floor creaked under her weight as she crossed the room, pulling open her curtains.
Her street looked peaceful in the pre-dawn stillness. The streetlamps hummed faintly, casting golden pools of light across the quiet suburban neighborhood. Mist clung to the grass. The houses across the street were still dark. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Yet Ariana couldn't shake the sense that she was… waiting.
For what, she didn't know.
She got dressed in silence, hoodie, jeans, sneakers, always in soft colors, never anything too bright or attention-grabbing. She brushed her long dark hair until it fell in a smooth curtain down her back, tucking a lock behind her ear out of habit. Her reflection stared back at her with wide, curious eyes, eyes people always commented on without knowing why. Too bright, too clear, too unusual in certain lighting.
She hated when people stared. She avoided mirrors whenever she could.
Downstairs, the house was still asleep. Their family cat, Nimbus, lifted his head lazily from the couch when she passed by, blinking slow golden eyes before curling back into sleep. The kitchen was dim, quiet except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. She switched on the soft under-cabinet light and began preparing tea.
This was her safe moment. Her quiet ritual.
A book sat on the table, her current escape, a fantasy novel about kings, witches, and destinies. She wasn't sure why she gravitated so much toward magical things. Maybe because she felt strange enough on her own. Maybe because she always sensed there was more to the world than people admitted.
She would never say it out loud, but she often felt… misplaced.
Like she was living a life that didn't quite fit her.
She flipped open the book and let her fingers trace a line of text. The kettle hissed softly. Steam curled up from her mug.
Her mother entered a moment later, hair tangled from sleep, wrapped in a robe she barely tied. She paused when she saw Ariana.
"You're up early," she murmured, voice thick with drowsiness.
"Mhm," Ariana whispered.
"Nightmares?"
Ariana shook her head too quickly. "Just woke up."
Her mother studied her for a heartbeat longer than usual, eyes softening with concern, but she didn't push. Instead, she leaned over, pressed a gentle kiss to Ariana's forehead, and moved toward the stove.
"You're seventeen. You should be sleeping more than me," she muttered as she searched for the frying pan.
Ariana smiled faintly. "I'm fine, Mom."
She wasn't, not entirely. But she knew her mother was exhausted enough. Her parents both worked hard, too hard, sometimes. Her mother in a dental clinic, her father as a mechanic who came home with grease on his hands and weariness in his bones. Ariana couldn't burden them with nightmares, strange intuitions, or sensations that made no sense.
Especially not those.
The twins burst into the kitchen thirty minutes later, filling the quiet with noise and chaos. Lina, always the dramatic one, launched herself forward and wrapped her arms around Ariana's waist.
"Ariaaaa!" she whined. "Why didn't you wake me up? I wanted to read with you!"
"You were sleeping," Ariana murmured with a small laugh. "And drooling."
"I do NOT drool."
Her twin brother, Lio, rubbed his eyes sleepily. "She absolutely drools."
Lina slapped his arm. "Snitch!"
The argument began, loud and energetic. Their mother sighed; their father entered a second later with a resigned smile.
Every morning was the same, comfortingly chaotic.
Ariana slipped easily into big-sister mode, fixing Lina's hair, helping Lio find his missing socks (always under the couch), packing their water bottles, giving them both small forehead kisses despite their protests.
She loved them fiercely, protectively. Sometimes… too intensely. She couldn't explain why. Something in her bones responded when they were upset, as though their emotions tugged at strings inside her chest.
It had always been like that.
She told herself it was normal. Just sisterly instinct.
When it was time to leave, she climbed into the car quietly while the twins argued about who would choose the radio station. Her father looked at her through the rearview mirror.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
Ariana nodded, forcing a gentle smile.
But when she looked outside the window, her lips parted slightly in surprise.
The morning looked unusually vivid today, colors sharper, sounds louder, even the distant rustle of tree branches somehow clearer. She blinked rapidly, trying to shake the sensation.
It didn't fade.
She pressed her palms against her thighs, grounding herself.
Just tired, she told herself. Lack of sleep. Nothing more.
But the uneasy flutter in her chest disagreed.
Ariana expected her day to stay quiet the way most of her days did, her slipping through the halls unnoticed, people barely remembering she existed unless they needed answers to homework.
But luck wasn't with her today.
The moment she stepped into the hallway, she felt them before she saw them. the trio. Mira, Savannah, and Kelsey. The unofficial royalty of the junior class. They didn't like Ariana. They never had. Not for anything she did… but for what she was.
Beautiful.
Uncomfortably, effortlessly beautiful.
The kind of beauty she never asked for, never wanted, and would have traded for invisibility if she could. It only made her more noticeable, more isolated, more… targetable.
Mira's gaze caught her from across the hall. A slow, cold smile curved her lips.
Ariana's stomach tightened.
She lowered her head and tried to slip into the classroom before they reached her. But the crowd of students blocked the doorway, and before she could maneuver around them,
A manicured hand grabbed her wrist.
"Where are you going, princess?" Mira purred.
Ariana froze.
"Just to class," she whispered.
Savannah laughed. "Of course. Miss Perfect. Miss Quiet. Miss Oh-I'm-So-Mysterious."
Kelsey leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You think you're better than everyone because you have a pretty face?"
Ariana flinched. "No, I don't think that. I'm just trying to.."
"Trying to ignore us?" Mira said sharply.
Ariana's heart kicked against her ribs. She hated confrontation, hated attention. Her voice refused to rise, even when she needed it to.
"I'm not ignoring anyone. Please. I just need to get to class."
Mira's expression hardened in a way that made Ariana's blood run cold.
"Actually," she said, looping her arm through Ariana's, "I think you need a little… attitude adjustment."
Ariana's throat tightened.
"No, I, I can't be late."
"You'll survive," Savannah said smoothly. "Besides, we just want to talk."
Their version of "talk" was never innocent.
Ariana tried to pull her arm free but Mira's grip tightened painfully.
"Come on. Don't make a scene," Mira whispered, voice dripping with false sweetness. "People are watching."
And they were.
Dozens of eyes.
None stepping forward to help.
Ariana swallowed hard as the girls dragged her down a side hallway, then toward the restroom near the back of the building, the one that teachers rarely passed.
Her pulse quickened.
"Mira, please," she whispered. "I haven't done anything."
"That's the problem," Mira snapped, pushing the bathroom door open. "You walk around like you're above everyone. With that face. Those eyes. Acting innocent. Acting perfect."
Savannah leaned in close. Too close. "Boys look at you, you know. You pretend you don't notice, but we do."
Kelsey's lips curled. "You should learn your place."
Before Ariana could react, they shoved her inside the restroom stall, slammed the door shut, and clicked the lock from the outside.
Ariana's breath caught.
"Mira!" she called, panic cracking her voice. "Please, open the door!"
Laughter echoed.
"Oh relax," Savannah said. "Maybe some time alone will humble you."
"Consider it a beauty timeout," Mira added mockingly.
Footsteps retreated.
Voices faded.
Silence wrapped around her like a cold hand.
Ariana pressed her palm to the door, trying to steady her breathing.
They were gone.
She was trapped.
Her chest tightened painfully, panic rising like a wave pulling her under. She pressed her forehead against the stall door, swallowing hard against the sting in her eyes.
Why?
Why did they hate her so much?
She never fought them. Never challenged them. Never wanted their attention.
She wiped at her eyes quickly. She refused to cry here. Not where her voice couldn't save her. Not where no one cared enough to come looking.
She reached for her phone, maybe she could call the office, but the screen was blank.
Dead battery.
Of all days.
She sank onto the closed toilet seat, hugging herself, trying to keep her breath from spiraling into full panic.
Minutes passed.
Then more minutes.
The hallway outside stayed silent.
Her fingers trembled slightly, a barely noticeable shake she quickly hid by squeezing her hands together.
Calm down.
Breathe.
You've been through worse.
She closed her eyes, trying to ground herself.
But deep inside her chest, somewhere far beneath her heartbeat, something warm stirred. Something ancient and fragile and restless.
It felt like a thread being pulled tight.
A quiet hum, almost like a whisper she wasn't supposed to hear.
Her breath hitched.
She opened her eyes sharply, chest suddenly warm, not painfully, not frighteningly, but intensely… aware.
The sensation disappeared a second later.
Just like always.
Just like every time something inside her slipped, then sealed itself again.
Her fingers tightened on her school skirt. She forced herself to breathe again.
Eventually, she stood. Steeled her nerves. Lifted her chin.
Someone would pass by eventually.
And when they did, she would pretend she was fine like always.
She always pretended.
She had gotten very good at it.