The First Secret
1426 Words
POV: Mina
We stayed frozen in the crawlspace for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes.
My heart was still racing from the close call with the headmaster. The space was so small that every breath I took brushed against the boy's chest, every slight movement pressed us closer together. His hand was still wrapped around mine, warm and solid and real.
Proof that I hadn't imagined this. That he was actually here.
Finally, I heard the headmaster's office door slam shut on the fourth floor. The sound echoed through the building, followed by blessed silence. He'd given up searching for me, at least for now.
I waited another few minutes to be absolutely sure, then carefully started to pull away from our hiding spot. The boy followed my lead, both of us squeezing back out from behind the supply cabinet.
When we emerged into the dim classroom, I finally got a good look at him in the light. He was staring at me with the same intensity, like he was trying to memorize every detail of my face.
We stood there in the middle of the room, still holding hands, neither of us knowing what to do next. How did you talk to someone when neither of you could speak? How did you explain eight years of loneliness and questions and that hollow feeling in your chest?
The boy seemed to have the same problem. His mouth opened like he was going to say something, then closed again when nothing came out. Frustration flashed across his face, followed by determination.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather notepad and a pencil. My eyes widened. Of course. Writing. The woman had taught me to read and write by scratching letters in the dirt, but I'd never had paper or pencils of my own.
The boy flipped open the notepad to a blank page and wrote something quickly. Then he turned it to show me.
Who are you?
Such a simple question with such a complicated answer. I took the pencil from him with shaking hands. My handwriting was messier than his, unpracticed and crude from years of only writing in dirt or on scraps.
I don't know. Who are YOU?
He read my words and something like relief crossed his face. He wrote again.
My name is Rafe Sterling. I live in the Sterling estate on the western side of the pack. I'm 8 years old. I've never been able to speak.
I took the pencil back.
My name is Mina. I don't have a last name. I live here at the school. I'm 8 too. I've never spoken either.
Rafe's eyes went wide when he read that. He wrote quickly.
The same age. The same silence. The same eyes and face. We're connected somehow. I've felt like part of me was missing my whole life. Have you felt it too?
Tears pricked my eyes again as I nodded and took the pencil.
Yes. Always. Like I was only half a person. Like there was a hole in my chest where something should be. It got worse this week. Started pulling me toward the western territories. Toward you.
I felt it too, Rafe wrote. My father said I might have a twin. That we were separated as babies. When our hands touched, I saw memories. A woman. A river. Being torn apart.
My hand trembled as I wrote my response.
I saw the same thing. A woman kissing our foreheads. Silver cloth. Water everywhere. Your hand in mine, then gone. I've been alone since then.
Rafe read my words and his face crumpled with emotion. He grabbed the pencil.
Not alone anymore. I found you. We found each other.
I nodded, unable to stop the tears streaming down my face. He was right. After eight years of being incomplete, of feeling like half a person wandering through life, I'd finally found my other half.
We stood there passing the notepad back and forth, writing out our lives for each other. I told him about the woman who'd found me in the river, who'd loved me and protected me until she died. About the headmaster who worked me like a slave. About sleeping in a storage closet and eating scraps and being invisible to everyone.
He told me about Lord Daemon who'd adopted him and treated him with kindness. About the cold woman named Vivienne who hated him. About living in a mansion and having tutors and everything he could want except the ability to speak or the feeling of being whole.
The contrast between our lives was staggering. He'd grown up with wealth and privilege while I'd grown up in poverty and a***e. But underneath those differences, we were the same. Both mute. Both feeling incomplete. Both searching without knowing what we were searching for.
I've always felt empty inside, Rafe wrote. Like there was supposed to be someone else there but they were gone. Now I know why. You were supposed to be there. We were supposed to be together.
Yes, I wrote back simply, because what else was there to say?
We'd been writing for over an hour when Rafe suddenly looked toward the window. The sky outside was starting to lighten with the first hints of dawn. His face filled with panic, and he wrote quickly.
I have to go. I snuck out during a dinner party. If they notice I'm gone, there will be too many questions. My father will cover for me, but only until morning.
My heart sank. He was leaving. Of course he was leaving. He had a life to go back to, a family waiting for him. And I had... this. A storage closet and a scrub brush and a man who saw me as property.
Rafe saw my expression and grabbed the pencil urgently.
I'm coming back. I promise. We just found each other. I'm not losing you again.
When? I wrote, trying not to sound desperate even though I absolutely was.
Same night next week? After midnight? Can you meet me here?
I nodded frantically. Yes. Of course yes. I'd do whatever it took to see him again.
What if the headmaster catches me? I wrote, voicing my biggest fear.
Rafe's face hardened with determination beyond his eight years.
Then we'll figure something out. But Mina, I'm not leaving you here alone anymore. We're supposed to be together. I don't know how yet, but we're going to find a way.
Something warm bloomed in my chest at his words. Not the pulling sensation that had brought him here, but something new. Something that felt like hope.
Rafe handed me the notepad and half his pencils.
Keep these. Write to me. Even if I can't read it until next week, write everything you want to tell me. I'll do the same.
I clutched the notepad to my chest like it was the most precious thing I'd ever been given. Because it was. It was proof that he was real. That tonight had happened. That I wasn't alone anymore.
Rafe reached out and took both my hands in his. We stood there in the growing dawn light, two eight-year-olds who'd just found the missing piece of themselves.
Then he pulled me into a hug.
I stiffened at first, not used to being touched with anything but violence. But his arms around me felt nothing like the headmaster's angry shoves or the other children's cruel pushes. This felt safe. This felt right.
This felt like coming home.
I hugged him back as tightly as I could, and for several long moments, we just held each other. Two halves of one soul, finally reunited.
When we pulled apart, Rafe's eyes were suspiciously bright. He picked up the notepad one more time.
I'll come back. I promise. One week.
I nodded and watched as he moved toward the classroom door. He paused in the doorway and looked back at me one more time, as if making sure I was real.
Then he was gone, disappearing into the pre-dawn darkness.
I stood alone in the classroom, holding the notepad he'd given me and touching my chest where that empty ache had lived for eight years.
The ache was still there. But it was different now. Not an empty void, but more like a stretched connection. Like a rope tying me to something precious that had moved away but was still there, still real, still mine.
For the first time in my life, I felt almost whole.
- Writer
