Halfway Home

azel pov 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. The smell of starch and polished wood was familiar, almost comforting. 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… arranged. Rina appeared a few minutes later, flats clicking against the pavement. Lip gloss shining. Hair curly and loud. And that smirk, like she’d just been told a secret no one else knew. “You little Miss Perfect,” Rina smirked. “You little Always-Late,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. She was my opposite in every way. But she was my best friend. The one who knew me before the rules took over. The bell rang. Morning assembly began. I stood straight, recited what needed to be said, said nothing more. Then came the sound. A motorcycle engine — low at first, then louder, then impossible to ignore. Heads turned. Necks craned. Even Rina’s gum paused mid-chew. “Who the hell is that?” “New guy. I think.” “He looks like he bites.” I didn’t mean to look. But curiosity has a way of pushing past good sense. He was getting off the bike like he was the only one in the scene. Black jacket. Tattoo on his neck. That bad-decision kind of hair. He wasn’t smiling. He didn’t need to. His face looked built 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 under his boot, and walked like rules were someone else’s problem. A few juniors shrank back. One senior looked impressed. Me? I turned away like I hadn’t just taken mental notes. Rina leaned in. “Lord have mercy. I love him already.” I rolled my eyes — at her, at myself, at the way my heartbeat had just sped up. I didn’t know his name. But I knew enough. He wasn’t going to be quiet. And quiet was the only thing keeping me steady. I gripped my books tighter. He didn’t belong in my life. But something told me he’d already found the door.