Chapter 5 : Spark

Flashback

The thing about Blackwood Academy was that it never made space for anyone. You either carved a place out for yourself or you vanished into the lacquered hallways and designer uniforms like wallpaper.

Aria was determined not to vanish but she was off to a bad start.

She was late, first of all. Not by much but just enough to make her feel like everyone was already watching, already whispering. She’d taken a wrong turn trying to find her Honours English class and ended up in what could only be described as the Aristocrat Wing , the marble floors, oil paintings of dead donors, and the distant sound of violin practice bleeding through the walls.

This place is ridiculous.

She turned a corner ,missed a step and tripped, her satchel sliding from her shoulder, papers scattering across the polished hallway floor. She muttered a curse under her breath and crouched to gather them, cheeks hot, praying no one had seen.

Of course someone had.

“I don’t think the hallway offended you,” came a voice, cool and amused.

She glanced up. And froze.

Dark hair, razor-cut cheekbones, and eyes the colour of a gemstone she had seen once. The blazer fit like it was custom. Of course it was custom. The smirk, practiced. And yet, beneath all of it, there was something sharper, something that flickered when his gaze met hers.

“Well,” he said, crouching to help. “That’s one way to make an entrance.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Aria muttered, snatching her annotated copy of The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo before he could. “I was just lost.”

“It happens to the best of us”

She shot him a glare, which he returned with a smile.

“Freshman?” he asked.

“Junior. Transfer.”

“Alright, my name is Damien”

 “I’m Aria”

“Aria,” he repeated, like tasting it. “You’re late.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you’re nosy.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Touché.”

They stood, papers mostly gathered, and for a moment neither moved. The noise of the school around them seemed to hush, as if the world was willing to pause for this strange, electric second.

“So,” he said, adjusting the strap of her bag like it belonged to someone he already knew. “Can I walk you to class, or would that ruin your rebellious first impression?”

She should’ve said no. She didn’t know him. This place didn’t know her. She had enough to prove without strange boys and their too-knowing smiles.

But something about the way he waited --not pushy, not smug, just patient. It made her heart skip a beat.

“You can walk me,” she said. “As long as you don’t talk too much.”

He gave a soft laugh, the kind that made it hard to tell if he was amused or just quietly delighted. “I’ll do my best.”

As they disappeared down the corridor together, the silence between them was easy, like they had known each other for long. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Damien glanced over and asked, “So… do you always make an entrance that dramatic, or was today just for show?”

She shot him a look. “It’s called performance art. Very exclusive.”

“Mm. Should I be worried you peaked already?”

She smirked. “Are you always this annoying?”

“Only when I’m impressed.”

She slowed a bit, wary but intrigued. “By what, exactly?”

“Well,” he said with a soft grin, “you’ve managed to get lost, drop your notes, and still end up in the honours hallway. That takes skill.”

Aria gave a short laugh. “I see. Mocking the new girl and her academic overachievement. Bold choice.”

“Not mocking,” he said, feigning sincerity. “I’m just wondering if I should start studying now, or accept that you’ll be beating the curve for the rest of the year.”

She laughed again, real, unexpected. “Are you flirting with me, Damien?”

He tilted his head, eyes bright. “Was that flirting?”

“No,” she deadpanned. “That was sarcasm. Try to keep up.”

That made him laugh. Low and warm, like it surprised even him.

“There it is,” he said, more to himself.

“There what is?”

“Your real voice,” he said, quiet now. “The part of you that doesn’t sound like it’s bracing for impact.”

Aria blinked, caught off guard. But there was no edge in his tone-just something kind and unassuming. It disarmed her. Aria felt the strangest, softest tug in her chest. Like a thread had been tied. Like something had shifted.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she murmured, more softly than she intended.

He didn’t press. Just nodded toward the door. “This is your stop, I think.”

She glanced up. Her classroom. Right.

“Thanks,” she said, adjusting her bag.

“Anytime.”

She stepped inside. Looked back just once. And there he was. Still standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, like he had nowhere better to be.

Like he didn’t really want the moment to end either.

She wouldn’t name it then. Wouldn’t dare.

But somewhere deep down, a part of her already knew:

This boy, this Damien had just changed everything.