Chapter 29
The end of school came with its usual chaos—backpacks slung over shoulders, half-finished conversations trailing down the
hallway—but Riya lingered by the Talent Show sign-up sheet posted outside the library, her brow furrowed.
Most names were familiar. Confirmed.
But today, there was a new entry on the list: just “Anonymous.” No phone number, no email. No way to confirm what act they
had planned, other than “A song.”
She hovered, eyes narrowed. They needed every act they could get, but the last-minute mystery gnawed at her. Maybe it was
a prank, some troll with too much time on their hands. She was too tired to deal with it; her head throbbed from too little
sleep, and Sirah khala would be home tonight.
The thought made her stomach tilt.
“So this is where you were hiding.” Quin bit into a snickerdoodle behind her. “You don’t expect me to peddle baked goods all by myself,
do you?”
Riya turned slowly. It was just her luck that Quin had volunteered for the same after-school bake sale shift for the Student
Council’s Talent Show Fundraiser. But apparently Quin couldn’t stand to be left alone for more than a few minutes.
“You just have to take the money, put it in the cashbox, and hand people their baked goods.” Her gaze fell to the cookie, then back to Quin. “Those are potential profits you’re eating.”
“I’m eating one cookie, you capitalist.” Quin looked over Riya’s shoulder. “Notice something intriguing about the Talent Show sign-up sheet?”
“Just that we have an Anonymous in our midst,” Riya replied, tapping the sheet.
“A little mystery is a good thing. Schedule them for the end of the show, just in case.” They tilted their head, studying
her. “You’ve got a . . . look about you today, Miss VP. Should I be worried you’re planning to oust me from my throne?”
“I don’t need a plan to do that. I just . . . have a lot on my plate right now.”
They fell into step and headed back to the folding table.
Quin didn’t speak again until they’d settled in, maybe sensing her mood. An underclassman in hockey gear dropped two crumpled
bills into the donation box, grabbed a brownie, and vanished.
“Well, whatever it is,” Quin said at last, “you don’t have to carry all of it, you know.”
Riya straightened a stack of Talent Show flyers. “Why do you assume I can’t handle it?”
“My gut.” Quin tucked their hands in their pockets. “I get it from my mom.”
“Your mom?”
Quin rarely mentioned family. Riya half convinced herself they’d sprouted from the ground one day like an obnoxious sunflower.
“She runs a little bookstore downtown,” Quin said breezily. “Underwood Books—ever heard of it?”
Julia. That soft certainty in her voice. The warm, metallic shimmer in her eyes.
So whatever happens, don’t let go.
Riya hadn’t thought to connect the dots—but now, staring at Quin, it seemed obvious
“I’ve been there,” Riya said, dazed. “You never told me.”
Quin smiled, slippery as water over glass. “Well, you never asked.”
Riya stared down at the flyers in her hands, suddenly aware of how tightly she was holding them. She’d worked with Quin on
Student Council for almost two months now—bickered with them, planned events with them, endured their relentless commentary—and
never once asked for more. She’d let the glibness deflect anything deeper.
Just like she’d never really asked Kian anything. Not until the curse forced her to look closer.
How many other people had she brushed past like scenery, never slowing down long enough to take in the whole picture? How
many full and fascinating lives had she dismissed without ever truly seeing?
They sat in companionable silence as the fundraiser wound down. Cookies disappearing. Students trickling home.
Riya reached for her tote bag and turned, only for the strap to catch on the edge of the table. She stumbled—just a half step. Quin reached out, catching her elbow to steady her.
It was nothing. Just a reflex. But they held on a beat longer than necessary to make sure she’d regained her balance.
“Careful,” they said, releasing her with a light pat. “No concussing yourself on my watch.”
Riya managed a weak smile.
And that was when she saw him.
Kian. Standing at the edge of the hallway, still as a shadow.
Her stomach plummeted. From a distance, it must have looked like Quin had been holding her.
“Wait, Kian—” she tried, already pulling away.
But he stepped back like she’d struck him. And then he ran.
“Shit,” she breathed, and tore after him.
Riya chased Kian past the bleachers and across the track field, toward the forest where Oppy the cat lived.
“Kian!” she shouted.
But he didn’t stop. The shadowy air swallowed them both as he slipped beneath the trees, the sun no longer strong enough to
follow. She pushed through the underbrush, grabbing his arm just before he disappeared completely.
Kian whipped around to face her, his beanie askew, his face twisted in anguish.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “I wasn’t trying to— I just— I saw you. With Quin.”
Riya’s heart pounded. “Kian, what’s going on?”
“Do you—” He stopped, jaw tight. “Are you dating them?”
“No!” she answered quickly. “Of course not. Quin and I were just talking, and then I slipped. That’s it.”
But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t hearing her. His hands flew to his temples like he was trying to keep something from breaking
loose. His breath came short and sharp.
“My freaking head . . .” he muttered. “We’ve only got five days, right? What happens to me after that?”
She stepped closer. “Nothing. I’m going to break the curse tonight. I promise.”
His head jerked up, eyes bleary. “You found a way?”
“I did, but—” She hesitated. She couldn’t tell him. “That’s not important right now.”
“It is to me.” He dragged in a breath. “What if it doesn’t work? What if you fix it and then I’m just—” He looked away. “Alone
again.”
“It won’t be like that,” she said. “This is a good thing. A fresh start—”
“A fresh start for who, Riya?”
The words landed like a slap.
She’d told herself again and again that she was doing this for him—for his freedom, his future. But what if this whole time
she’d been so focused on tidying up the mess, she’d never truly faced the person standing in it?
“I don’t want to forget you.” Kian dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching. “Because if I do—what if you forget me too?”
Riya swallowed. “. . . I’m sorry, Kian.”
“Is it me?” he asked. “Is there something about me that makes people want to leave? Hell, my own mom wouldn’t stay for me.”
There was no anger in his voice. No blame. Just the naked, aching question of someone still trying to understand a wound that
had never healed.
“What did I do wrong?” he begged.
What did I do wrong?
Riya felt her throat close.
Without thinking, she pulled him close. “You did nothing wrong. Okay?”
Kian didn’t respond. But his breathing slowed against her and the raggedness dulled, just a little.
She pulled back, gripping his shoulders to meet his gaze. “I’m going to get some help. But I need you to stay here and wait.
Please.”
She hadn’t just come to the end of her own rope—she’d come to understand what Kian really needed: not just someone to break
the curse, but someone who’d stay. Who’d know him, even if he forgot himself. And maybe his father could still be that person.
Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect parent. But even if Kian didn’t know it yet, Riya could see that his dad was still there.
And that had to mean something.
She hesitated as Kian nodded. Then she ran.
It was a few minutes before she reached Kian’s house. She knocked hard, breathless and frantic.
Mr. Kho opened the door, eyes narrowing at her flushed, tear-wet face. “Riya? What’s wrong? Your eyes—”
“Kian,” she gasped, forcing the words through a tight throat. “He needs you. He’s really upset, and I—I don’t know what to
say. I’m not good at this, but he needs someone right now.”
A flash of realization crossed Mr. Kho’s face, followed by a quick, resolute nod. “Take me to him.”
As they returned to the forest, the sun was sinking, casting a dying light over the ground. For a moment, Riya couldn’t see
him, the weight of fear pressing in until—
Relief flooded her, hot and sharp. She spotted him, curled beneath a tree, a dark, fragile shape in the shadow. Oppy, the
black-and-white cat, sat beside him, an odd sentinel in the fading light.
“Kian . . . !” Mr. Kho’s voice broke through the quiet as he dropped to his knees beside his son. “Are you okay?”
Kian’s red-rimmed eyes met his father’s. “Dad? You’re here.”
“Yes, I’m here,” Mr. Kho whispered, his voice breaking as he cupped Kian’s face. “What happened?”
The dam broke, and Kian let the tears fall, his body shaking with each sob. “Why did you leave me, too?”
Mr. Kho’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he pulled Kian into a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry. I know your mother leaving hurt you, but I didn’t realize how much. I should have . . .” His voice cracked as he tightened his hold on Kian.
Riya could still hear the low murmur of their voices, but the words no longer felt meant for her. That was for family. For
them.
Oppy brushed against her legs, sensing her unease. Riya bent to give the cat a gentle pat, then turned toward the path that
led out of the forest.
There was nothing more for her here.
Whatever had been broken between Kian and his father, they needed the space to begin mending it on their own.
But her work wasn’t done.
Not yet.