Almost Mine

ARIA The 5 a.m. alarm went off far too soon. I woke up with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before reaching for my phone. There was no point pretending I could steal more sleep. Mornings like this didn’t wait for anyone It was time to begin the routine. Plates. Sweeping. Breakfast. Ironing clothes. Laundry. Being the middle child was not easy — especially when your parents had a way of favouring everyone except you. My elder sister did what she wanted. My younger brother was protected from everything. And somewhere in between, I learned how to make myself useful enough to be noticed. That was how I earned the label maid. I pushed myself out of bed and padded downstairs, tying my hair into a loose bun as I went. The sink was full of dirty plates my sister had left behind the previous night. I didn’t complain. Complaining had never changed anything. By the time the house was quiet again, the floors were clean and breakfast was done. The clock read 7 a.m. One hour. That was all I had to get ready for school — the first day of my third year in college, and I needed to be early. Early meant a good seat. A good seat meant peace. I rushed back upstairs and dialled Stacy’s number, slipping into my bathrobe as the phone rang. “Ready to go, Kyls?” she asked, far too cheerful for this hour. “Give me thirty minutes,” I said. “I promise by the time you get here, I’ll be ready.” “Seriously? You live ten minutes away. What have you been doing all morning?” “I didn’t call to be nagged,” I replied, already heading toward the bathroom. “I probably won’t have time for breakfast, so please get me a sandwich on your way. Love you. Bye.” "Wait -" I hung up before she could protest. The shower was quick. I dressed in a simple outfit, jeans, a t-shirt, and sneakers — nothing that would draw attention or invite conversations I grabbed my bag and dashed downstairs just in time to hear a car horn blaring outside. “Thirty minutes, huh?” she said the moment I slid into the passenger seat. “Come on, we still have ten minutes to get there.” “Let’s just go.” “Sandwich?” “Backseat,” she said, shaking her head. “You know, Ari, you’re really lucky to have a friend like me. Imagine what your life would be like without me.” “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered. “Juice?” “In my travel mug.” “Thanks.” “As I was saying—” “Drive, Stace,” I cut in. “We’ll be late.” We arrived ten minutes past eight, which wasn’t terrible. The classroom was still mostly empty, and relief washed over me when I spotted my favourite seat — right side, back corner, untouched. A small, satisfied smile curved my lips as I claimed it. Whatever this academic year had planned for me, at least it would find me sitting where I felt safest. I had always been a bit of a loner. Since my first year, the only real friend I’d made was Stacy. She studied civil engineering. I studied computer science. We only met during breaks and the single course we shared, but somehow, that was enough. I slipped my headphones on and stared ahead, letting my thoughts drift. Sometimes, I imagined what life would be like without the constant tension at home. I sometimes admired Stacy — her laughter, her freedom, the way life seemed lighter around her. Being an only child with wealthy parents came with advantages I tried not to envy. My life was harder. Complicated. But I managed. Mostly because of her. The lecture started, and time blurred into notes, explanations, and scribbles across my notebook. By the time we were dismissed at 12:30 p.m., my head ached. I met Stacy in the cafeteria and collapsed into the seat across from her. “This is definitely not how I imagined my first day of third year,” I sighed. “Tell me about it,” she said, sliding a plate of food toward me. “They weren’t joking when they said it gets harder the higher you go.” “You’re a lifesaver,” I said, digging in. Halfway through eating, I noticed the cafeteria was louder than usual. Not just the usual chatter — this was an excited, restless noise. Laughter too sharp. Whispers layered over each other. I glanced around, trying to locate the source, and noticed a group of students crowded around one corner. “Stace,” I asked, nodding toward it, “what’s going on over there?” She barely looked up. “No idea. I was curious at first, but that crowd is way too big. And I’m exhausted.” I nodded. “Same. If it’s important, we’ll hear about it eventually.” I turned back to my food, unaware that whatever had captured everyone else’s attention was quietly moving closer to my life ROWAN I sighed as I stared at my reflection in the mirror "Here we go again.." I muttered " Don't worry, you will be fine, sweetheart," my mum said as she entered my room and put her hands on my shoulders "I guess so." " Cmon, at least try and be optimistic. It might be for good this time," she said while fixing my hair " Well, I have zero expectations." I muttered, fidgeting with the zipper of my jacket. I was nervous Not because I was going to be the new student but because being new came with attention — and attention had never been something I wanted. I learned early on that moving around meant not getting attached. New houses. New schools. New faces blurred together after a while. My father’s job made sure of that. By the time I was seventeen, I had mastered the art of packing my life into boxes and unpacking it somewhere unfamiliar without complaint. People assumed it was exciting — starting over, reinventing yourself — but to me, it wasn't. You stop trying when you know you won’t stay long enough for it to matter. This time was different, though. This time, we were staying or so my mother hoped. The drive to campus was quiet. I watched unfamiliar streets pass by, memorising them out of habit. When we arrived, my mother squeezed my hand before letting me go. “Make friends,” she added softly. I gave her a half-smile. “I’ll try.” The moment I stepped onto campus, I felt it. The looks. They always started the same way — quick glances that lingered a second too long, whispers exchanged behind hands, curiosity disguised as casual interest. I ignored it, shoulders relaxed, eyes forward. Reacting only made it worse. Orientation was brief. Forms, schedules, directions. By the time I found my first lecture hall, I was already tired of being noticed. I chose a seat near the middle, far enough not to stand out, close enough not to disappear completely. I looked around and the class was almost filled and we had about 10 minutes till the lecture arrived. I sighed I took out my headphones, and before I could put them on, I felt a hand on my shoulder Wussup, pal? Name’s Jason. Nice to meet you, friend,” a cheerful voice said. I froze for a moment, then turned slowly. Jason’s smile was easy, open, and slightly goofy. He didn’t seem like the type to judge. “Rowan,” I said simply, returning a brief, polite smile. Figures someone would approach me the first day. At least he seems harmless. Jason grinned, leaning back slightly. “Cool. Don’t worry, you’ll survive. Everyone’s kinda loud at first. I’ve been here a semester, so I know the drill.” I nodded again, settling into my chair. I glanced around the classroom, noting the curious glances still directed my way, the whispers I tried to ignore. And somewhere in the back, across the room, I caught a glimpse of someone — a girl — who seemed too absorbed in her own world to notice any of it. Her hair was tied back, headphones in, scribbling absentmindedly. And yet… something about the way she moved, the little creases in her brow as she focused on her notebook, made me pause. Not because she noticed me — she didn’t — but because she reminded me of something I couldn’t place. Quiet resilience, maybe. A sense of being unnoticed yet unbending. I turned back to Jason and nodded again. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” He laughed lightly. “No problem, new guy. Welcome to the chaos.” And for a moment, as the classroom settled into its usual rhythm, I allowed myself to breathe. Just a little.