The hallways of Northvale Academy were lined with lockers that gleamed like polished silver, a stark contrast to the rusted hinges and peeling paint of Elara's home. At Northvale, wealth wasn't just a status; it was a scent—a mixture of expensive cologne, new leather, and the invisible weight of expectation.
Elara kept her head down, her fingers gripping the straps of her backpack until her knuckles turned white. She was a "scholarship kid," a label that carried a silent stigma. To the other students, she was a ghost; to her parents, she was a burden. But to Ji-Hoon, she was an enigma.
"You didn't answer me," Ji-Hoon said, falling into step beside her. He didn't seem to care that his group of popular friends was watching from the cafeteria entrance with confused expressions. "About your dream. Everyone has one. Even the grumpy guy in the cafeteria dreams of a better hairpiece."
Elara felt a tiny, rare spark of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "I don't think dreams are meant for people like me, Ji-Hoon. I just want to survive the day."
"That's not a dream, that's a chore," Ji-Hoon countered, spinning his basketball on one finger with practiced ease. "Look at me. My dad wants me to run his construction empire, but I? I'm going to be on stage. I'm going to sing until the whole world feels what I'm feeling. When I'm famous, I'll get you a front-row seat. No, wait—backstage passes. Only the best for my first fan."
"I'm not your fan," Elara whispered, though her heart gave a traitorous flutter.
"Not yet," he winked.
The school day passed in a blur of complex equations and historical dates that Elara memorized with a desperate hunger. Education was her only ladder out of the pit her life had become. But as the final bell rang, the dread began to pool in her stomach.
When she arrived home, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Her younger sister, Jamie, was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by new toys. Jamie was seven now, the golden child who could do no wrong.
"You're late," her mother, Sarah, barked from the kitchen. "Jamie wanted snacks an hour ago. And the bathroom needs scrubbing. Your father is coming home stressed, and I won't have him seeing this mess."
"I had a study group," Elara lied quietly. She never had a study group, but she had spent thirty minutes in the library just to enjoy the silence.
"Don't talk back to me!" Sarah walked over, her face contorted. She snatched Elara's backpack and threw it toward the door. "You think you're better than us because of that fancy school? You're nothing but a mouth to feed. We should have left you where we found you."
The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Where we found you. Elara knew she was adopted—they had made sure to remind her of that since Jamie was born—but the cruelty in Sarah's voice felt different today. It felt like a door closing forever.
Elara spent the next four hours scrubbing floors and preparing a roast she wouldn't be allowed to eat until the "real" family was finished. By the time she retreated to her "room"—a converted laundry closet with a thin cot—her bones ached.
She pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. It was a flyer for a talent scout audition Ji-Hoon had slipped into her locker. On the back, he had scribbled: Don't let them blow out your light, Elara. See you tomorrow?
She hugged the paper to her chest. In the dark, silent house, it was the only thing that felt warm. Little did she know, this was the last year their paths would cross for a very long time. The high school entrance exams were approaching, and while Ji-Hoon was headed for an arts academy under the bright lights of the city, Elara was about to be pushed further into the shadows.