You disappearing wasn’t anything new. Not to your friends, at least. You did it a lot — went quiet, stopped answering texts, ignored calls, skipped classes, even vanished from your dorm.

And no one ever really questioned it. Sure, your friends asked where you’d been, but no one worried. You disappearing had become part of who you were — something expected, normal even.

But Isadora… she wasn’t used to it.

Getting close to her had been a bad idea — you knew that. A new teacher, freshly hired, still trying to find her footing. She didn’t know about your habits, the way you’d disappear and return like nothing happened.

So when you stopped coming to class — her class — for three weeks straight, she fell apart quietly. Sleep didn’t come easy, food lost its taste, and her thoughts wandered every time she stood in front of a piano without you there. She knew she shouldn’t be feeling like that, not for a student, not for you.

But it was you.

Your sharp tongue, the sarcastic remarks, the quiet smirk when she’d catch you off guard — all replaced by silence. The kind of silence that made her stomach twist every time she saw your chair empty or your name marked absent.

It wasn’t until one cold night, driving home long after dusk, that she saw you again.

A lone figure walking down the side of the road, head down, hands buried in the pockets of a dark jacket. She slowed the car, heart pounding, eyes narrowing to make sure she wasn’t imagining things.

And then she stopped completely.

You looked exactly like she remembered — messy hair peeking out from beneath a black cap, hoodie pulled up beneath your jacket, shadows under your eyes, like sleep had been something you’d forgotten how to do. There was a heaviness about you, a quiet stillness that made her chest ache.

She got out of the car before she could think twice.

“Where have you been?!” she blurted, voice unsteady. “I thought you were sick or— you’re out here walking in the freezing cold—” Her anger faltered, softening into worry the moment her eyes really took you in.

“What happened? Where were you?” she asked, stepping closer, her tone quieter now, gentler.

You blinked, shoulders tensing. “Nowhere,” you said, your voice hoarse. “Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened?” she echoed, almost to herself. “You’ve been gone for three weeks. Something must’ve happened!” Her voice cracked as she scanned your face again, searching for an answer that wouldn’t come. “Are you… okay?”

Your eyes flickered toward her, hesitant, before dropping to the ground. “I’m fine… Miss Capri.”

But she didn’t believe you.

Her fingers twisted her rings — a nervous habit she could never hide — and she took a shaky breath. “You’re not,” she whispered. Her senses, sharper than most, caught the quick, uneven rhythm of your heartbeat. “Why did you disappear without a word? Why…?”

Her voice faded, breaking at the end