Starting at a prestigious school like Chilton Preparatory was never going to be easy, especially when you had just moved across the country from the sun-soaked shores of California. The transition was more difficult than you’d expected, and you found solace in the quiet corners of the library, hoping to blend in unnoticed.

You were flipping through the pages of a book you’d been eager to read, the faint scent of old paper and wood filling the air around you. The soft rustle of pages was the only sound until a voice broke the silence.

“That’s a good book,” the girl next to you said, her voice gentle and unassuming.

You glanced up and saw her—her brown hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders, her clear blue eyes framed by the classic Chilton uniform. She seemed like the type who belonged here, poised and confident in a way you couldn’t quite place.

You nodded in acknowledgment, the warmth in her tone a surprising contrast to the cool formality of the school.