Chapter 32
On Friday, the hallways pulsed with noise—lockers slamming shut, seniors singing in the halls, underclassmen rushing to class.
But Riya didn’t hear any of it.
Because there, taped next to her locker, was a single—thank God—black petunia.
And a note. See you Monday.
Riya frowned. Turned the paper over. Checked for more. Nothing.
Monday?
Dread snaked through her chest. Kian’s Berklee audition was in four days. All weekend, she’d be buried in last-minute Talent
Show prep—final checks, tech cues, stage wrangling. And Monday was the day of the show, not to mention the day the curse would
become permanent.
She didn’t even have time to celebrate the fact that just this morning, she’d finally turned in her Caltech essay—with about
a week to spare. It didn’t feel like the triumph she’d expected. If anything, she couldn’t remember why it had ever felt so
sacred.
Her grip on the note tightened. She didn’t have time for another mystery.
She turned just in time to see Mel bounding toward her.
“Hey.” Riya slipped the note into her pocket. “Have you seen Kian today?”
Mel’s eyes flicked to the petunia. “No—but . . . is that from him?”
Riya nodded once. “Yeah, but I haven’t seen him today, and it’s making me anxious.”
Mel hesitated. “Maybe he’s busy planning a surprise? Or working on a way to break the curse?” She played with a lock of hair.
“Oooh, maybe an interpretive dance, or—”
“Do you know something?”
“Me? No! Why would I know anything?” Mel laughed, then cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ve been trying not to push, but . . .
are you okay? Like, actually okay?”
“Other than feeling like I have a guillotine hanging over my head, I’m . . . okay.”
“Yeah. I figured.” Mel looked at the floor, then back up. “I have a date with Andrew after the Talent Show, but if you need
me—if anything goes wrong—I’ll be there. No hesitation.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to. But I’m telling you anyway. You come first.”
Riya smiled. “Thanks. I’m excited for you.”
Mel grinned. “Good things are coming, RiRi.”
Before Riya could reply, Andrew appeared at the other end of the hallway and waved. His copper hair was tied back in a ponytail, matching Mel’s black one. Riya wondered if that was intentional.
For a moment, Mel and Andrew simply stared at each other, mirroring each other’s goofy smiles. Neither seemed to mind the
crowded hallway. It was almost . . . sweet, in a way.
But as Riya watched them, something in her chest pulled tight. They only had seven months left. After graduation, everything
would shift—new cities, new schools, new lives. She used to think holding on through all that was pointless. Mel would hold
on anyway. Because it mattered.
And Kian, despite the odds, was holding on, too.
Riya swung her backpack onto her shoulders. “All right, lovebirds. I’m heading out. Lots to do.”
The blush on Mel’s pink cheeks deepened. “S-see ya, RiRi. Good luck with Talent Show prep.”
“See ya, Riya,” said Andrew.
Riya threw a casual wave, before she plucked the petunia off her locker and, on a whim, tucked it behind her ear.
Then she headed home. For the last quiet before the storm.
Later, Riya slid into the kitchen chair beside Sirah khala, who was typing furiously on her laptop, blue-light glasses slipping
down her nose.
“Any luck?” Riya asked.
Sirah khala sighed, removed her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ve reached out to everyone I know who’s even remotely versed in peri magic—nothing yet.”
The words settled like lead. Riya had expected it; hearing it still stung.
“So there’s no other way.”
The late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows, casting golden patterns across the wooden floor, while the air carried
the faint scent of cardamom from the chai someone must have made earlier.
“I didn’t say that.” Her khala studied her. “Tell me again. Are you certain you never knew Kian before all this?”
There was something probing in her expression, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle that refused to fit.
“I . . . don’t know.” Riya said. She’d asked herself the same question more than once lately.
“It doesn’t sit right.” Sirah khala crossed her arms. “Like I said before, love magic doesn’t create feelings out of nothing;
it amplifies what’s already there. Like when you cast that spell on those little shits in middle schoo—”
“Sirah khala!”
“I mean, those little boys,” she corrected smoothly. “You amplified their guilt. But if there’d been none, nothing would have
happened.”
Riya opened her mouth to argue but stopped herself. Because the truth was she’d felt it, hovering at the edges of memory ever since Kian had told her that story under the stars. Ever since her memories of the Incident had caught on the edge of something, something she felt she was missing.
She hadn’t seen the boy’s face. But he’d seen hers.
If Kian really had feelings for her all along—if the curse had only amplified what was already there—
Then it wasn’t just a mistake. It was a return.
Riya’s heart thudded. She stood. “I need to confirm something.”
Her khala got up to her feet, chair scraping softly against the floor. “I’ll be in my room if you need to talk more.”
When the door clicked shut behind her, Riya stayed where she was. She leaned back, staring at the bar of sunlight gilding
the scuffed linoleum. Her phone sat on the table, dark and silent. She picked it up, and her thumb paused over his name.
Kian answered on the first ring. “Riya?”
“Hey.”
“Riya! Hi. Everything good?”
She caught the faint hum of background noise, the soft shuffle of movement. Kian was working on something, she was sure of
it now. Was it that new song he said he was doing for his Berklee audition?
“Yeah. I just . . . needed to ask you something.”
“Yes! Anything. Literally anything.” His warmth rushed through the line. “God, I wasn’t expecting you to call me. My heart
is racing—is your heart racing? Your voice sounds so nice on the phone. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Thank you.” Riya was pacing, feeling unmoored by his energy. “I just, uh—” Now that she had him on the line, the words felt lost.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I meant it when I said we’re going to find a way. I know you’re probably nervous. But you’re not in
this alone. Do I need to come over there and make you do mirror affirmations?”
“No thank you.”
A small pause. The hum of the fridge. The distant echo of music on his end—strings, maybe a guitar.
Riya took a breath.
“In eighth grade—when you got suspended. You said another student saw what happened. Spoke up.”
“Yeah.”
“So I’ve been thinking . . . Kian, was it me?”
A pause. A gentle laugh.
“You finally remember,” he said. The confirmation settled into the space between them like dust, soft and weightless.
“So it really was you,” she whispered.
“I guess I do look pretty different,” Kian said. “I was hoping you’d remember on your own. Kinda hurt, being the only one
who did.”
His confession lodged beneath her ribs. For all those years, had Kian caught glimpses of her in the hallway, wondering if
she recognized him?
And if they managed to break the curse—would she become the only one who remembered?
She wondered if that would be part of her penance.
“I never saw your face. I didn’t know—” She exhaled slowly. “I’m so sorry.”
“But you did,” he said. “You just saw some kid getting bullied—it didn’t matter who. You just wanted to help. And you tried to make things
right, when no one else did. Miss Justice Junkie.”
“It’s all so blurry,” Riya said.
“I mean, it was a long time ago. Actually, my dad even dragged me to your house afterward, to thank you. But your parents
said you were sick.”
So that’s why Riya’s dad had thought Kian looked familiar.
She nodded slowly, the memory slotting into place. “I was. Sort of.” After she realized what she’d done to Jake and those
boys, she couldn’t get out of bed for days.
“I tried to find you again after I came back,” he said. “But you were always busy, and it was obvious you didn’t recognize
me. So when I ran into Mel in the hallway—and then you—it felt like . . . like maybe the universe wasn’t done with us.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, and closed her eyes again.
She could hear the guitar again. Someone else calling his name.
“Give me a sec!” Kian’s voice, muffled. When he came back, it was softer. “Sorry. I have to go.”
Her chest squeezed. If everything went right somehow, he might no longer orbit her at all. He had his own life—already. A future she wasn’t sure she had a place in. And what about hers? For so long, it had pointed west. To Caltech and its clear skies and certainty.
But lately, even that felt less . . . fixed.
Kian’s voice dropped into something quieter, almost nervous.
“Hey, Riya?”
“Yes?”
“I promise I got you, okay?” he said. “No matter what happens. I’ve got a plan. So . . .” He took a breath. “Just—please trust
me and wait.”
Riya’s brows furrowed. She wanted to ask what he meant. She wanted answers, more certainty.
But there was something in his voice tonight. Not curse-born certainty, but something raw and human.
Maybe her khala was right. Maybe magic didn’t bow to logic; maybe it only answered to belief. To the reckless, impossible
act of trusting someone—against all odds—until you couldn’t quite remember what it felt like not to.
“. . . I’ll try,” Riya said softly. She stared at the faint reflection of her face in the darkened window. “Good night, Kian.”
“Good night, Riya.”
The call ended with a soft click. But her hand lingered on the cool surface of the table, as if some part of her was still
reaching for him.
Then she crossed to the window, pressing her fingers against the glass. The stars shimmered beyond the glass, distant and untouchable—just like they’d always been.
Maybe this time, she’d meet the magic halfway.
Maybe this time, she wouldn’t run.