Invisible Threads

New beginnings (Aicy's POV?)

Transferring schools wasn’t something I had planned.

It wasn’t like I was running away—not really. But moving to a new place, where no one knew m, felt strangely heavy. There was a certain kind of loneliness that came with starting over, even if I pretended I was fine.

The first day was always the hardest. New hallways, unfamiliar voices, the murmur of conversations that didn’t involve me. I could feel the curious stares as I stepped into the classroom, but I kept my expression neutral—not too eager, not too distant.

“Class, we have a new student joining us today,” the teacher announced. “Aicy, would you like to introduce yourself?”

I nodded, flashing the kind of smile that was meant to seem effortless.

"I'm Aicy," I said simply. "I transferred from the city. Hope we get along."

A few whispers, a couple of interested glances, but nothing that fazed me. I’d done this before—new faces, new introductions, same routine.

Then, as I scanned the room for an empty seat, my eyes landed on a girl near the window.

She wasn’t looking at me—not at first. But when she did, something shifted.

I can’t explain it—not in any way that makes sense. It wasn’t recognition, because I’d never seen her before. It wasn’t attraction, at least not the immediate kind. It was something quieter. Like I had just stumbled upon something important, but I didn’t know why.

Without thinking, I slid into the seat beside her.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I said, keeping my tone light. “I don’t really know anyone yet.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded.

“It’s fine,” she said, voice soft.

I could’ve left it at that—just another first conversation, another passing introduction. But something about her made me pause.

I glanced at her desk, catching sight of a notebook filled with lyrics, uneven handwriting sprawled across the pages.

"You write?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Her posture stiffened slightly.

"A little," she said.

I grinned, resting my chin on my hand. "I wanna read one."

She blinked, looking at me like she was trying to figure me out. Then, after a moment, she sighed and flipped through the pages.

The poem she landed on was short, unfinished. About connection.

I read it carefully, letting the words settle in my mind.

"I like it," I said, quieter this time. "It feels... familiar."

Her fingers hovered over the paper, as if she was unsure what to do with my response.

Neither of us said anything after that.

But for the first time, this new classroom, this new beginning—didn’t feel like starting over.