Lyra woke before her alarm.
She didn't know why at first—only that her chest felt tight,like she'd been holding her breath in her sleep.The pale morning light crept through the thin dorm curtains, painting soft lines across the ceiling.For a moment, she just lay there,staring,letting the quiet settle.
Then she remembered.
The note.
The library.
Kael's voice—low, steady, too calm for how close he'd been.
Her fingers curled slightly against the blanket.
Get up,she told herself....Routine,normal things,don't spiral.
She slipped out of bed carefully,mindful of Talia still snoring softly on the other side of the room.Lyra padded to the sink, splashed cold water on her face, and studied her reflection.Same girl,same dark eyes,same auburn hair tied back in a loose,practical bun.
And yet… something felt different.
She brushed her teeth,washed her face, moved through the motions like muscle memory.Routine had always been her anchor—something solid in a world that had taken too much from her too early. Orphaned young,suffled through quiet houses and polite condolences,Lyra had learned that structure kept grief from growing teeth.
She dressed simply: jeans,asoft sweater, sneakers worn thin at the soles,invisible clothes,safe clothes.
But even as she packed her bag,her notebook slid into it on instinct.
I'm not invisible anymore,the thought came unbidden.
That scared her.
Breakfast was already loud when she and Talia reached the cafeteria.Trays clattered, voices overlapped, and sunlight streamed in through tall windows,catching dust motes in the air. Lyra grabbed toast,fruit,and coffee—nothing fancy,nothing memorable.
Talia,on the other hand,piled her tray like she was preparing for winter.
"You look… thoughtful," Talia said around a bite of pancake. "Or haunted. Or both."
Lyra stirred her coffee. "Didn't sleep well."
"Ooooh," Talia sing-songed. "Library boy?"
Lyra choked slightly. "He's not—" She stopped herself, sighed. "Maybe."
Talia grinned. "See? Progress. Also, rumor update."
Lyra braced herself. "Let me guess. Kael?"
"Always Kael," Talia said. "Apparently his side girl—you know, the one everyone swears he actually cares about—was seen leaving his place last night. Which means either they're still a thing, or they're about to explode spectacularly."
Lyra nodded, carefully neutral. She told herself she didn't care. She told herself a lot of things lately.
Still, something sour twisted in her stomach.
She pushed her tray away, appetite suddenly gone.
Her first class passed in a blur. Lyra took notes neatly, focused harder than necessary, but her thoughts kept drifting. Every shadow near the door made her look up. Every shift of air felt… watched.
You notice too much.
The words echoed in her head.
By the time her second class ended, she needed air.
She stepped outside, pulling her sweater tighter as a cool breeze brushed past. The campus hummed with life—students laughing, bikes rolling by, a sense of normalcy that felt almost mocking.
She didn't notice him at first.
Then she did.
Kael stood near the steps, alone this time. No entourage. No smirking friends. Just him, hands in his pockets, dark hair slightly tousled like he hadn't bothered to tame it this morning.
Her steps slowed before she could stop them.
He looked up.
Their eyes met.
No crowd. No whispers. Just the two of them.
"Morning," he said.
It was such a normal word. Somehow, that made it worse.
"Morning," Lyra replied, surprised by how steady her voice sounded.
They stood there for a second too long.
"You walk like you're expecting the ground to give way," Kael said quietly.
She frowned. "Is that… bad?"
"No," he said. "Just observant."
A pause.
"I didn't sleep," she admitted, before she could stop herself.
Something shifted in his expression—not dramatic, just… human. Tired. Honest.
"Neither did I," he said.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It felt heavy, like both of them were standing on the edge of something neither wanted to name.
"I should go," Lyra said finally.
"Yes," Kael agreed. Then, softer, "Be careful today."
She looked at him. "Of what?"
He hesitated—just a fraction too long. "People."
That was when she noticed it. The tension beneath his calm. The way his gaze flicked briefly past her shoulder, scanning the crowd like he was expecting trouble.
"Kael," she said slowly, "are you—"
"I'll see you around, Lyra," he interrupted gently, already stepping back.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Later, in the quiet of the library, Lyra opened her notebook.
Her hand moved before her thoughts caught up.
Dear Stranger,
I woke up feeling like something had shifted. Like the ground beneath me isn't as solid as it used to be. You spoke to me today—not in riddles, not in letters. Just words. Simple ones. And somehow, that scared me more than the mystery ever did.
She paused, then added:
You told me to be careful of people. I wonder if you meant yourself.
She closed the notebook, heart pounding—not with fear, but with something dangerously close to anticipation.
For the first time since arriving on campus, Lyra wasn't just surviving.
She was feeling.
And that, she realized, might be the most dangerous thing of all.