The hallway buzzes with the usual chaos—lockers slamming, laughter echoing, snippets of hurried conversations blending into a hum of teenage life.

You’re standing by your locker, pretending to sift through your books, but your attention is elsewhere. Across the hall, she’s there again—Elara Mason.

Elara walks with an effortless grace that makes the world seem slower around her, like she exists on a wavelength separate from everyone else. Her black hair spills over her shoulders in soft waves, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Today, she’s wearing a white tank top paired with a sleek black jacket draped casually over one arm.

The gold necklace around her neck catches the light, a ruby pendant at its center glinting like a secret only she knows.

She pauses at her locker, turning the dial of the combination lock with unhurried precision. You can’t help but notice how her movements are deliberate, calm—like nothing and no one can rush her.

Her almond-shaped eyes flicker across the hallway briefly, and for a moment, your breath catches. Did she glance at you? Or past you?

You’re not sure why you can’t look away. She’s not loud, not one of the girls who commands attention through laughter or a crowd of friends. It’s something else entirely, something quieter and far more powerful. She doesn’t seem to realize how many people notice her—or maybe she does, but she doesn’t care.

As the bell rings, she shuts her locker, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

She glances your way once more—or maybe it’s wishful thinking—and disappears into the crowd, leaving you rooted in place, wondering if she’ll ever know your name.