Chapter 27
Riya arrived at the café first.
It was warm inside, the kind of warmth that made her eyelids heavy and the windows sweat. Outside, late-afternoon wind made
tree branches dance; inside, everything smelled like espresso and cinnamon.
She’d been in seventh period when she’d noticed Kian’s text: After school. I want to talk. Just us.
No explanation. Not even an emoji.
Now she sat alone at a corner table, staring at her phone.
She hadn’t meant to open the email from Mr. Krug again, but the subject line haunted her: Almost there! His feedback looped in her head like static.
“This is an excellent draft, Riya. Polished, thoughtful, clear. You’re so close! But I still don’t feel like I know you. I
think you’re holding something back. What makes this dream personal? Don’t be afraid to bare your soul.”
Except she couldn’t exactly bare her soul when it was already on the bargaining table. The truest thing she could—that she
would have to trade her future to break a curse—wasn’t something she could put in an application essay, anyway.
How ironic. She’d done everything right—grades, leadership, ambition, control. And now, steps from her goal, magic was forcing her to throw it all away.
A month ago, she would’ve attacked the problem like any other: research, variables, contingency plans. There was always a
way to keep everything intact. That was the rule. If you worked hard enough, you won.
But this wasn’t a test. There was no clever workaround. She couldn’t have both.
Even if she undid her mistake and gave up Caltech, Kian would forget everything—every ridiculous moment, every part of him
that had slipped under her guard.
The old her wouldn’t have hesitated like this.
The door flew open. A gust of wind, a clatter of the bell.
Kian—or what she assumed was Kian—stumbled inside, buried beneath a floating mass of balloons. Pink, orange, silver, clear
with glitter confetti inside. They bobbed and jerked like they were trying to escape him.
He shoved his way to her table, squinting through the mess. “Sorry I’m late,” he said brightly. “Coach Reese wouldn’t let
me out even a minute early from detention, and then I had to meet up with Eric for soun—I mean, for a thing. But I brought
you a present.”
Riya stared. Kian attempted to sit, but the balloons wouldn’t allow it. They bumped and squeaked against the walls and chairs,
knocked a fork off a nearby plate. A small child whispered, “Is it someone’s birthday?”
The barista, a lanky college student with an eyebrow piercing, looked up from the counter and groaned. “Hey—you really shouldn’t bring all those in here—”
“Hey, there are no rules against balloons!” Kian barked. “I checked your website!”
“That’s beside the point! Just sit outside, please!”
Riya stood, grabbed his sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.
“Come on, Balloon Boy,” she muttered, a small smile tugging despite herself. “Before you get us banned.”
Outside, Riya sat stiffly at the nearest patio table while Kian tied the bouquet of chaos to the back of her chair. The balloons
hovered behind her like a halo. A very loud, shiny halo.
“How am I supposed to get home with these?” she asked.
“I’ll drive you!” Kian replied, grinning.
“And dare I ask—why the balloons?”
“The hint is how many there are.”
Riya quickly counted. Twenty-four. “Ah.”
“One balloon for every day since the curse,” he said proudly. “Do you like it?”
It was absurd. It was unnecessary. It was very Kian.
“Thanks,” she said.
Kian’s voice dropped. “I just—I was worried. That’s why I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask if you’re okay.”
Riya glanced up, startled.
“You looked off yesterday,” he said. “When you came to drop off my notebook. Sad, maybe. Or scared. I don’t know.”
Of course he’d noticed.
But Kian looked drained, too. The dark circles beneath his eyes were more pronounced, and his skin was paler than ever. She wondered if the nightmares were getting worse.
“I know the full moon’s in six days,” Kian continued, “so you’re under a lot of stress. With the curse and Caltech—and the
Talent Show, too, right? Mel’s also been pretty worried.”
Riya winced. Had it really been that obvious?
Then she remembered. “Oh, right. I told her about the curse.”
“She told me.” Kian smiled faintly. “Point is, we’re both worried. You kept dropping things in the hallway. Zoning out. I
even saw you snapping at Quin in the hallway—although, honestly, that part was great.”
Earlier that day, Riya had yelled at Quin for attempting to buy brand-new speakers with the Student Council budget. “You don’t
like Quin very much, do you?”
“Of course not. Something about them irks me.” Kian made a face. “But still. It’s clear you’re on edge.”
His gaze met hers and held it. “Is it . . . the lack of progress on breaking the curse?”
The answer curled against her throat, thick and unwelcome.
She could tell him. Right now. She could tell him everything. That she’d found a way to break the curse. That there was a
cost.
“I’m just tired,” she said.
Kian nodded slowly, fingers fiddling with the knot of one of the balloons. “. . . Okay.”
The balloons bobbed behind her, rustling faintly in the breeze like they were listening.
Riya cleared her throat. “Your lyric notebook,” she said. “You mentioned yesterday you were working on something?”
“Oh.” Kian flushed. “Yeah. It’s no big deal. Just . . . a new song.”
He was acting strangely sheepish about it.
“Is it for your Berklee audition?”
“It could be. Maybe.” Kian hesitated, then looked away. “I’m hoping I’ll get to try it out before then.”
“Like a trial run?”
“Exactly.”
Kian was still planning for the future—because he still believed there would be one. Because he believed in her.
That should have been a comfort. Instead, it hurt.
“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice almost lost to the wind.
“Always.”
She looked at her lap. “If the curse is broken . . . and you forget everything—what happens next?”
He looked at her. No hesitation. No doubt.
“I told you. I refuse to completely forget.” His words were low and fierce, like it physically hurt him to imagine otherwise.
“I’d find my way back somehow. I’d see you in the hall and feel it. Like when an old song plays on the radio and you still remember every word. I’d remember without remembering. You’d say something sarcastic and roll your eyes at me, and it would all come rushing back.”
“Kian—”
He smiled. “There’s no universe where I just let you go. I’d fall for you all over again. Every time.”
Riya stared at her hands, nails biting into her palms. She almost wanted to believe him. But she knew how this ended.
Once she broke the curse, Kian would forget. He’d leave for Berklee. She would be left rewriting her life from scratch.
“But forget about the curse for just a second,” Kian said, playing with his sleeves. “If it were just me and you—what would
you want then?”
Mel had said something like that, too. But this time, it felt . . . different. Softer, more vulnerable. For him. And for her.
Riya opened her mouth. Closed it.
Then a balloon slipped its knot and drifted upward. Riya tracked its slow ascent, grateful for the distraction.
“Oh,” she realized suddenly. “That’s bad for the environment.”
“Shit, really?” Kian scrambled to his feet. “Let me find a rock.”
“What do you mean, a rock—”
But he was already lobbing small stones into the sky with absurd determination.
“That’s dangerous,” Riya muttered, just as one connected.
POP!
“Hell yeah!” he whooped.
The balloon—or what was left of it—fluttered down in pieces.
“. . . Should I get you another balloon?” asked Kian. “Because I can get you more—”
“No, thank you.”