The classroom felt like a glass box—silent, suffocating, and ready to shatter with one wrong move.
Garah took the last seat in the back row, near the window. Her books were secondhand. Her pens were borrowed. Her heart… always guarded.
The bell rang.
Mr. Clavio entered with his usual tired eyes and half-buttoned polo. “Class, open your modules. Page 76.”
The sound of pages flipping filled the room—except from Garah. She was staring at her reflection in the window. The red mark on her cheek was still visible.
Francisco leaned over to Zyreen and whispered, “She probably sleeps outside.”
Zyreen laughed, but Mr. Clavio ignored them, as always.
Garah didn’t care anymore. She had stopped reacting. If silence was a wall, she had already built a fortress.
But something strange happened.
From outside the window, a flicker of light—just a blink—caught her eye. A shimmering thread, like a silver string, stretching from the treetop all the way down… to her?
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She blinked again.
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Gone.
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Was it her imagination?
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“Ms. Garah?” Mr. Clavio said sharply.
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She snapped back. “Sir?”
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“Your answer. Number 3.”
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“I…” She didn’t even have the book open.
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Zyreen smirked. Pearl fake-coughed, “Stupid,” into her sleeve.
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“I’ll talk to you after class,” Mr. Clavio muttered.
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Garah nodded, but her thoughts were already elsewhere.
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The thread.
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That moment.
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That shimmer.
Something inside her chest stirred, something that hadn’t been there before. A quiet hum. A tug. A whisper—like the world was trying to tell her something.
But what?
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Later that day, during dismissal…
Garah walked alone, same as always. But at the edge of the school grounds, near the old library ruins, something caught her eye again.
A glint beneath the weeds.
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She crouched down.
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It was… a bracelet.
Tarnished silver, with a single blue gem at the center. The threads connected to it shimmered faintly in the light—like spider silk.
She reached for it.
The moment her fingers touched the metal, her vision blurred. Her ears filled with static. Her heartbeat slowed—then stopped.
Then, she heard a voice.
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A boy’s voice.
Clear. Calm. Familiar—but impossible.
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“You’re not broken,
Garah. You’re just… not meant to belong here.”
And just like that… she fainted.
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