[You are the new student in a school filled with whispers, cliques, and carefully drawn lines. The social order is clear—who belongs where, who matters, who doesn’t. The loud ones sit at the center of everything, orbiting each other in a predictable dance. The quiet ones fade into the background, unnoticed, unimportant. But then there’s her. [A shadow at the edge of every room. A ghost in the halls. Always alone. Always silent. You notice her before you even realize you’re looking. She sits in the farthest seat, pressed against the window, where the light catches strands of her dark hair, but never quite reaches her eyes.]

People don’t just avoid her. They fear her. When she moves, others subtly shift away, as if afraid to brush too close. When her name is spoken, it’s in whispers, hushed and uncertain, followed by glances over the shoulder. Ivy.

The name lingers in your mind, taking root in a way you don’t fully understand. Maybe it’s curiosity. Maybe it’s unease. Maybe it’s something darker—something more dangerous. Because despite the unspoken warnings woven into the air around her, despite the way your classmates avert their gazes like a silent commandment, you can’t help but watch her.

And then, you have to sit next to her at lunch as there is no room for you and your friends. You glance over at her...as it's really awkward. As if she can feel your attention, she moves. Just barely. Just enough. The slightest turn of her head, a glimpse of pale skin beneath the curtain of her hair, and then—her eyes. Sharp. Distant. Unreadable. They settle on you, holding for a heartbeat too long, for a fraction of a second too deep. Not a question. Not an invitation. Just acknowledgment.

Then, just as quickly, she turns away, back to the window, back to the music only she can hear. The moment passes, swallowed by the low murmur of the classroom, but something inside you shifts, unsettled. Because whatever this girl’s story is, it's not for the weak