Chapter 26 #2
“I think I’m going to ask him to Prom. Make my own little fairy-tale moment, you know?” She twirled her yogurt spoon like
a scepter. “Say hello to our future prom queen!”
Riya managed a small smile, the motion automatic, as the sweetness of Mel’s strawberry yogurt hung in the air.
“But—where’s Kian? I wanted to tell him the news. All of this happened because of him, after all. I have to thank him.”
Riya’s stomach turned.
She hadn’t seen him all weekend, since Taboo and her call with her khala.
With seven days left, she could end the curse now. She knew the cost.
Maybe seeing him would make the choice clearer. She could already see it—his crooked grin, the way his eyes crinkled when
he was proud of her, the way he leaned in too close without realizing. That ridiculous, spell-sick glow in his face that sometimes
felt too real.
But what if, in that moment, she still gave in to her selfishness? Kept Caltech, only to let Kian spiral into oblivion?
What if that was who she was all along?
“Riya . . . ?”
Mel’s voice, close now. Her face hovering in Riya’s periphery.
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay? You look . . . sick.”
“I’m fine,” Riya said—too fast. She summoned a smile, but it didn’t catch. “Tell me what you and Andrew have been talking
about.”
Anything to drown out the noise in her head.
She looked down. The apple was still there. Untouched. Waiting. Too red. Too perfect. Like an invitation.
Or a warning.
She picked it up. Turned it once in her hand.
Then took a bite.
When the final bell rang, Riya found herself drifting toward the library more out of habit than any real need. She was too
restless for the bus, too wired to go home.
Less than a week until the next full moon. Before Kian forgot everything.
Unless she did the unthinkable.
“Oh, Riya!” Ms. Calloway smiled from the front desk. “Is Kian with you?”
“No, not today,” Riya said, frowning.
Time was slipping away, and yet, ever since Kian had told her about his past, he’d been . . . less present in her life. No
texts. No hovering close behind her all school day. The only sign of his existence had been a small, foldable umbrella, bright
yellow, tied to her locker, with a note: For a supernova of a girl. Stay dry today.
She should’ve been relieved. The newfound space should have helped her think. Instead, it felt like the calm before the storm. Because if he wasn’t hovering around her as usual, then where was all that energy—the curse, the obsession—going?
“He left this behind,” Ms. Calloway said, pulling a familiar green notebook from beneath the desk.
Riya recognized it immediately. The lyric book. The one he always had on him.
“I can drop it off,” she offered, a little too fast.
She’d use it to confirm he was okay, to make sure he hadn’t done anything reckless.
Yes. She was simply being pragmatic.
“Would you? That’d be such a relief.” Ms. Calloway smiled. “Thanks for being so on top of things, Riya.”
The walk to Kian’s house was longer than Riya remembered, the ground slick with rain, squelching beneath her every step. The
yellow umbrella kept her dry, and she kept the notebook tucked securely under her arm.
The temptation to open it tugged at her. What would be in there? Song lyrics, his thoughts, dreams—like he’d said?
Something about her?
She shouldn’t care. He wasn’t himself. These thoughts wouldn’t reflect the full truth. But that didn’t stop her from wondering.
Because even if the curse erased everything, the notebook wouldn’t.
Maybe she just wanted to see what might be left behind. Except—her hands wouldn’t obey. Because if there was something about
her in those pages—some trace of feeling, real or not—she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
And if there wasn’t?
That was . . . almost worse.
By the time she reached Kian’s house, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting a fiery glow over the neighborhood. The
burgundy front door with its bronze number 5 seemed to pulse under the warm light, like the beating of a slow, steady heart.
Mr. Kho answered, warm as ever. “Riya! What a nice surprise.”
“Hi, Mr. Kho. I’m just here to drop something off—Kian left his notebook in the library.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you. He’s around somewhere, I think. Come in, come in.” Mr. Kho moved aside, letting Riya in.
She stepped into the familiar scent of garlic and spices.
“Actually, Riya—can I ask you something?” Mr. Kho said suddenly, almost shyly, as he closed the door behind her.
“Of course.”
“When did you and Kian meet? He . . . never tells me anything.”
Riya adjusted her glasses, hesitating.
It wasn’t the question itself. It was the way he asked it—gentle, but probing. Like he was trying to fit her into a story
he already half remembered.
“. . . Just a few weeks ago,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Funny. You remind me of someone. Someone Kian used to talk about a long time ago. I thought maybe . . .”
He trailed off, shaking his head. “Ah, never mind. Just an old man’s brain playing tricks.”
But Riya didn’t smile.
The memory hit hard this time—eighth grade, the bloodied knuckles, the weight of guilt that had never quite lifted. The way
Kian had looked at her, that very first day. It’s you. Of course it’s you.
She’d dismissed it all before, convinced herself it was all just meaningless coincidence. But what if she was wrong? What
if each was a sign, a thread she could no longer ignore?
She shook her head. Tightened the grip on his notebook. “Can I—can I talk to Kian . . . ?”
“Of course.” Mr. Kho hesitated. “Although, I don’t know where—”
Footsteps sounded behind him, and Kian’s head appeared in the doorway.
“Riya?” His voice was scratchy, his eyes red-rimmed, skin pale. He looked like someone who hadn’t properly slept in days,
maybe weeks.
“Hey.” She handed him the notebook, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You left this at the library.”
He took it carefully, like it might fall apart in his hands. “My music notebook. Thank you, Riya,” he murmured. “You saved me. I was in the middle of working on something.”
Mr. Kho’s brow lifted. “Music? You’re still writing?”
“It’s nothing, Dad.”
“I just thought—” Mr. Kho paused, searching for the right words. “I thought you’d given it up.”
Kian’s jaw tensed. “I gave up on piano. Not music.”
His thumb circled the edge of the notebook. Riya wasn’t sure he even realized he was doing it.
A silence stretched—awkward, expectant.
Then Riya broke it.
“I’ve actually seen him writing in it. All the time.” She glanced at Kian. “He really cares about it.”
Kian looked away, the faintest flush rising to his cheeks.
But what struck Riya was Mr. Kho’s expression: pure pride.
“I’m . . . surprised,” Mr. Kho said at last. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Kian laughed darkly. “You’re barely around. You don’t ask. No one does—except Riya.”
His words weren’t meant for her, but Riya felt cut by them anyway. And beneath it, she could feel the magic stir like electricity,
sparking between anger and longing.
She looked between them: father and son, standing just feet apart, yet separated by years of silence. But still reaching.
Still hoping.
“I should go,” she said, eyes flicking down. “I’ve done my job.”
But before she could turn to leave, Kian stepped forward.
“Riya, wait.”
His expression had changed—brows drawn, shoulders tense. As if the act of letting her walk away physically hurt him.
“You should stay for dinner. I didn’t get to see you all day.” His suggestion was tentative, soft. “I can make you something—I’m a decent cook. Just . . . stay. For a bit.”
He was holding back as best he could. For her. So he wouldn’t scare her off.
Riya opened her mouth—then closed it again.
She wanted to stay.
But not like this. Not under the weight of a spell that turned longing into desperation. Not when she wasn’t sure where her
feelings ended and the curse began.
And not when staying would mean wedging herself deeper into this family—into the space between a father and son who still
had a chance to repair what was broken.
Mr. Kho stepped between them.
“Kian,” he said calmly, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “You need to let her go. I’m sure she’s tired.”
Riya stepped back, heart thudding. “I—I have a lot I still need to do.”
Mr. Kho nodded. “Next time.”
Kian didn’t speak at first. He rubbed his forehead, thumb brushing the corner of his eye, then said quietly, “Y-yeah. Okay.
Next time.”
Riya paused at the door. Her gaze lingered on Kian—his shoulders drawn, his grip tightening around the notebook like a lifeline.
She’d only meant to check on him. Deliver the notebook. But the thought of leaving sat heavier than it had that morning.
Maybe this wasn’t just about the curse anymore, or fixing a mess she’d created. Penance for what she’d broken.
It was smaller. Simpler. She wanted to help because it was him.
She stepped into the dusk alone. And for the first time since learning what the curse required, her mind calmed—certain. Maybe,
deep down, she’d known for a while.