Halfway to you

pov:azel Mornings always felt the same. Safe. Still. Silent. I liked it that way. My routine was a shield: white blouse ironed crisp, braids pinned neat, books packed tight, a quiet moment at the window before leaving the house. My father said structure kept people from falling apart. And ever since Mama died, I’d clung to his rules like they were the only thing keeping me from slipping too. At school, Micah was already waiting by the front gate—fresh haircut, tucked shirt, always on time. He smiled when he saw me, and I smiled back. The kind of smile that looked good from the outside. “Good morning, Miss Azel the Saint,” he teased, bumping my shoulder. “Good morning, Mr. Always-Perfect,” I replied. People always said I was pretty, in that quiet-girl way. Soft eyes. Smooth skin. Clean posture. Like someone raised to be good and untouched. But most days, I didn’t feel beautiful. Just… controlled. Rina caught up with us a few minutes later. She was in flats today, which meant she’d been late again. Lip gloss on. Hair curly and loud. And a smirk on her face like she knew something the world didn’t. “You little Miss Perfect,” Rina smirked as she caught up beside me. “You little Always-Late,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. She was my opposite in every way. But she was my best friend. My oldest friend. The one who knew me before the rules took over. The bell rang. Morning assembly started. I stood straight, recited what needed to be said, said nothing more. Then came the sound. A motorcycle engine — loud, dramatic, like it wanted everyone to know it had arrived. Heads turned. Necks craned. Even Rina stopped chewing her gum. “Who the hell is that?” “New guy. I think.” “He looks like he bites.” I didn’t mean to look. But curiosity is louder than common sense. He was getting off the bike like he was in a movie no one else had been cast for. Black jacket. Tattoo on his neck. That bad-decision kind of hair. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t have to. His face looked like it was designed to be stared at — sharp jaw, full lips, lashes longer than mine. And the cigarette? Of course there was a cigarette. He dropped it, crushed it, and walked like hall passes were for other people. A few juniors looked terrified. One senior looked impressed. Me? I turned away like I hadn’t just taken mental notes. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Rina leaned toward me and muttered, “Lord have mercy. I love him already.” I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt — mostly at myself. I didn’t know his name. But I already knew he was going to be a problem. A serious one. So I turned my head, tightened my grip on my books, and reset my focus. He didn’t matter. This was just noise. People like him didn’t belong in lives like mine. But somehow, he’d already walked into mine like he owned the silence.