By Monday morning, Mira's name was everywhere.
Not loudly.
But persistently.
Students glanced at her twice in the halls. Teachers smiled more openly. Even the notice board featured a photo from the showcase—Mira standing under the lights, calm and composed.
She pretended not to notice.
At her desk, she opened her notebook like always.
---
Blake, however, noticed everything.
When Mira struggled to carry a stack of books, he reached for them without a word.
When classmates whispered, he met their gazes calmly until they looked away.
"You don't have to do that," Mira said quietly during break.
"I know," he replied. "I want to."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
---
Ariana didn't speak much that day.
Her friends laughed, but the laughter felt forced. When someone mentioned the showcase, they lowered their voices around her.
Pity.
Ariana hated pity.
She stared at Mira across the classroom.
How did this happen?
When did she become untouchable?
---
That evening, Dominic returned home earlier than usual.
As he passed the sitting room, he saw Mira practicing the piano—fingers moving smoothly over the keys.
The melody was soft.
Melancholic.
He stopped.
He hadn't meant to.
She finished the piece and looked up, startled.
"I didn't know you were there," she said.
"You play well," Dominic replied.
"I learned from my father."
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
Dominic nodded once. "You don't waste time."
She met his gaze. "Neither do you."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Dominic turned away.
---
That night, Ariana sat alone on her bed, staring at her phone.
No new messages.
No invitations.
She thought of Mira's calm smile on stage.
And for the first time, a thought crept in—
What if I was wrong about her?