Chapter 9
On Friday morning, Riya stumbled through the hallway, eyes grainy, stomach a sour knot.
She could still taste the morning’s panic: waking up late, missing both alarms, sprinting to the bus stop with her shoelaces
undone. An unthinkable offense in her clockwork life. She had nightmares to blame. Ones of Kian chasing her, Quin’s laughter
ringing in her ears, and her Caltech essay screaming about the end-of-the-month deadline.
Now, surrounded by the crush of students, she fumbled toward her locker, each step setting off a fresh wave of nausea. She
needed her planner. She needed order. Something, anything, to stitch the morning back together.
Except everywhere she turned, she felt it.
The eyes. Students glancing sideways. Whispering.
It was happening. Exactly what Quin had warned her about. Sure, they didn’t know her secret. But their stares crawled across
her skin like they did.
Before, Kian had been like a ghost—neither seen nor heard, someone people only whispered about. Now, no matter where Riya
went, Kian was always there. Lurking just out of reach. Hovering near her with a textbook to hide his face behind, like some
kind of cartoon character in a bad disguise. Calling out, “Daaamn, some pretty girl here smells like jasmine! ” just as she passed.
Riya had resorted to borrowing Mr. Petrov the janitor’s master key set, inventing an excuse about securing supplies for an
upcoming council event, just so she could slip through the maintenance halls to avoid him.
Just a few more weeks, that’s all she needed. A few more weeks until the next full moon, and Kian’s feelings would fade like
nothing ever happened.
But every glance prodded. Every whisper, a warning. And Riya was already starting to crack.
As she neared her locker, silently cursing Sirah khala for still being MIA, the intercom suddenly crackled to life.
“Goooood morning and happy Friday, Abbersett!”
Riya’s breath hitched. That voice.
Other students stalled, too, heads tilting toward the speakers.
Kian, his voice amplified, chuckled. “I know you’re expecting your usual hosts, but Eric and Amandi and the rest of the AV Club have been so generous in letting
me hop on here to give a quick shoutout to a very special person in my life.”
There was another muffled, panicked voice—Eric, the friendliest junior in existence—stammering weakly in the background. “A-actually, K-Kian, you don’t have permission to be—”
“Anyway,” Kian barreled on, “there’s someone very special I want to acknowledge today, before we all leave for the weekend. She’s the most incredible person I’ve ever met. Hardworking. Gorgeous. A little intimidating, but, like, in a sexy way—”
A strangled wheeze from Eric. “P-please, Kian—”
“—and I think it’s time the world sees her the way I do. So please enjoy a little something I wrote for her . . . straight from my heart.”
The hallway went dead silent.
Then, over the intercom, in a voice that was far too soft, far too earnest: “Riya Khan, if you’re listening—this one’s for you.”
Riya’s entire body went rigid at the mention of her name. She begged the universe to smite her where she stood—before she
had to hear anything else.
Kian began to read: “Did I wake you, my morning star? Pulling you from a dream where we were one? But I can only remain—a lonely moon caught
in your orbit.”
Laughter rippled down the hallway. A few students turned, not even pretending to hide their stares
Riya’s gaze remained glued to the floor. Space imagery. He was using space imagery. But how—how would Kian Kho even know that
about her?
“I call for you across the night—” Kian intoned dramatically. “But my voice is lost in the void. A ghost. A whisper. A love that burns but never touches the sun.”
More laughter. And Riya—she barely heard it. Her face burned. Her mind raced.
Riya, I really like you. I mean it. And if you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it.
Was this nightmare his idea of proof?
Finally, she forced her legs into motion—out of pure spite—pushing blindly toward her locker.
Just get your planner, she told herself. Duck into homeroom. Disappear for the rest of the day—or maybe, preferably, forever.
Except she couldn’t go to homeroom. They’d all heard it. Mel would have questions. Everyone would have questions.
“These borders are all I know—ow, stop, I’m almost done, Jesus!—but what if your love could pull me through?”
Riya was power-walking now, her ears roaring with secondhand humiliation—and then she turned the corner.
And her brain short-circuited.
Her locker. Buried in black petunias.
Dozens—maybe hundreds—of petals, sloppily taped, already wilting. And a single handwritten note sat in the center:
Always with you
Riya made an ugly, strangled noise.
Hadn’t they just replanted the flower beds Kian had razed last time? Money would have to be taken out of the gardening budget
again. Would she get blamed for this?
She pressed her fingers to her temples, fighting the headache forming behind her eyes. It was almost as if . . . ignoring
Kian the past week had only made his feelings grow.
The intercom crackled again.
“Sorry, Riya, they’re telling me I gotta go. But I hope you understand my feelings and how much I care about you.”
Click.
Silence.
Then, a fresh swell of whispers. Cackles. A group of girls passed, glancing at her locker—and at her.
A wave of mortification crashed over her. But beneath it, something deeper, sharper: fear.
If Kian kept this up, it wouldn’t just be rumors. It would be dissection. Scrutiny. People picking apart who she was. What
she might be hiding.
You’re a monster.
The thought made something inside her snap.
She slammed her fist into her locker. The metal clanged, reverberating down the hall, making a couple straggling students
in the hallway jump.
The tape gave way.
And a shower of night sky–purple petals fluttered to the ground.