4- HARPER

The afternoon sun hung low and heavy in the sky, painting the city in shades of burnt orange and exhausted gold as I trudged up the front steps of our brownstone, my shoulders aching from the weight of my backpack and my mind still cluttered with the noise of the school day.

The subway had been packed, the walk from the station too long, and every muscle in my body felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.

"Gosh!! What a very stressful day! I can finally rest," I said to myself the moment I got home and reached for the door handle, my fingers closing around the cool brass with a sigh of relief.

But the second I pushed the door open, something was wrong.

The air that greeted me was thick and wrong—heavy with a sharp, bitter smell of something burning that clawed at the back of my throat and made my eyes water instantly. It was so strong, so acrid and suffocating, that I knew immediately something had gone terribly wrong in the kitchen.

"Oh my God!" I coughed, the sound tearing from my lungs as I gasped for clean air, my hand flying up to cover my nose and mouth. "What's burning in there? Is Mom back from work and placed food on the fire then forgot to put it down?" The questions kept running through my head in a frantic loop as I dropped my bag by the door with a heavy thud and rushed inside, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The kitchen was hazy with thin gray smoke that curled toward the ceiling in lazy, poisonous ribbons. On the stove, a pot sat blackened and forgotten, its contents reduced to a charred, smoking mess. And there, standing by the counter with her back to the disaster, was my mother.

She was staring out the window at nothing, a faint, distant smile playing at the corners of her lips, completely oblivious to the danger smoldering just feet behind her.

"Mom!" I reached her in three strides, touching her gently on her arm. "You were lost in thoughts and smiling. You didn't even bother about the food you placed on fire." My voice cracked with a fear that went deeper than the burned dinner. "So if I wasn't here, this house could be at risk of fire outbreak—including your life."

She jolted as if my touch had electrocuted her, snapping out of whatever reverie had held her captive. Her eyes were wide, startled and for a moment I saw something flicker in them—something secret, something she was trying desperately to hide.

"Oh! Harper! Already back from school?" she asked, her voice still startled, trembling slightly as she blinked at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Yes, Mom," I replied, my concern deepening with every second. "It's past 4 o'clock already, and we closed right at 4 o'clock on the dot—that's our closing time."

“I'm even surprised you're back already. Is everything okay?" I asked, holding her gaze and trying to read her expression, trying to see past the thoughts she was so carefully holding in place.

"My darling, everything is okay," she replied softly. She forced a small smile, the kind that didn't crinkle the corners, the kind that was purely mechanical. "I just took permission from work to leave early. I was feeling a bit weak."

She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a tenderness that made my chest ache, then quickly changed the tone, her voice sharpening with artificial briskness. "You should go freshen up now," she added, trying to divert the conversation before I could ask more questions.

"Hmm… alright Mom. Take good care of yourself," I said, my voice flat with the weight of unasked questions. I turned toward the door and headed to my room, my footsteps heavy on the stairs. But deep down I knew for certain that something was bothering her. She seemed very distracted and she clearly wasn't ready to open up to me about it.

“Whatever secret she was carrying, it was hers alone—for now”, I thought out loudly as I went upstairs to my room.

(THE NEXT DAY)

The morning assembly had dragged on longer than usual, the principal's voice droning through the PA system about discipline and punctuality while the sun beat down mercilessly on our heads.

By the time we filed back into class, my uniform was sticking to my back and my throat was parched. I had just slumped into my seat, still fanning myself with a notebook, when Asher appeared beside my desk.

"Oh Harper! I think I had a dream too when I read the story," Asher said, walking up to me the moment we settled in after assembly.

His voice had that excited, half-whisper tone he always got when something had been burning on his mind all morning, the kind of tone that made people lean in without realizing they were doing it.

"It was weird," he added, lowering his voice a bit and glancing around to make sure no one else was listening. "The characters from the story were actually in it, and it felt so real." His eyes were wide, earnest, completely devoid of the teasing glint I had expected.

"Ah! What dream did you have?" I asked, my curiosity piqued, already beginning to believe him when Jane walked into the class and headed straight toward us.

"Would you guys believe I had a dream when Asher was fucking you?" she said, her voice loud enough to carry, as she pointed at me and burst into laughter alongside Asher, the two of them dissolving into giggles that echoed off the classroom walls.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. I felt the blood rush to my face, hot and humiliating.

"Oh! So the both of you actually teamed up to mess up with my brain?" I said when I realized what they were up to, my voice tight with anger and embarrassment.

"Please! The both of you should go back to your seats. I don't have strength for your troubles," I added angrily, turning away from them, my hands trembling slightly as I busied myself with my books.

It was then that Peter ran into the class again.

"Hey guys! I think the principal is coming to our class," he said, panting heavily as he leaned against the doorframe, his chest heaving, his eyes bright with that familiar fever of fresh gossip. "I saw him with a new student. They're heading straight for our classroom."

(MINUTES LATER)

"Good day students," the principal greeted as he walked into the class with a new student beside him, just as Peter had said earlier.

"I am glad to announce to you all that you will be having a new student," the principal said, his voice calm but firm enough to make everyone sit up straight and the last few whisperers clamp their mouths shut.

He paused and looked around the room, making eye contact with a few of us, his gaze lingering just long enough to remind us who held the power here, before continuing.

"I plead with you all to be on your best behavior with him. Make him feel welcome, help him settle in, and remember that we represent this school with how we treat one another." The principal's tone softened a bit at the end, but you could tell he meant every word.

As he finished speaking, all eyes shifted to the new student standing beside him, and the air in the room filled with that electric mix of excitement, whispers, and anticipation that only a new face could generate.

"Please!! Introduce yourself to your new classmates," the principal instructed, stepping aside with a small, formal gesture.

The boy slowly raised his head up. ”My name is Martin Julius," he said in a voice that was very audible and charming.

After speaking, his eyes moved from one desk to another, calm and observant like he was quietly taking in each person in the room.

Then his gaze found mine.

"This is not possible," I shouted immediately, the words tearing from my throat before I could stop them, before my brain could catch up to what my eyes were seeing.

We had a direct eye contact with each other, and in that split second, I saw recognition flicker in his eyes—or was it my imagination? I quickly caught myself and lowered my voice, my hands flying up to cover my mouth, my heart battering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

"Am I daydreaming?" I whispered to myself, my voice trembling so badly I barely recognized it.

"This is the exact guy that fucked me in my dream and makes me wet and dripping when I wake up." I exclaimed softly, the confession barely audible, a prayer and a curse all at once. Then, driven by a desperate need for reality, I pinched my arm hard—so hard that I felt the bruise forming instantly—just to confirm that I wasn't dreaming.

The pain was real.

But so was he—standing there with that same face and overwhelming presence, right in front of me.

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