Lina's arrival
Lina's POV
The school looked nothing like the brochure. The photos had made it seem warm, almost poetic, with golden hallways and ivy-covered windows. But standing here on the front steps of North Haven High, the January wind biting through my coat, all I saw was gray.
Gray bricks. Gray sky. Gray mood.
I adjusted the strap of my backpack and pushed open the glass door. The lobby buzzed with the familiar chaos of first period about to start—footsteps pounding on tile, lockers slamming shut, laughter bouncing off the walls. No one noticed the new girl.
Perfect.
I made my way to the front office, the paper crinkling in my hand—my schedule, transfer approval, and a too-cheerful welcome letter from the principal. I hated that paper. It felt like proof that my life had been reset without my permission.
“Lina Novarro?” the receptionist asked with a smile that was a little too practiced.
I nodded.
“You’re all set. Here’s your locker number. And you’ll be meeting with Ms. Wren in third period for your music elective. She’s already got you paired for the semester project.”
Paired? Already?
Before I could ask, she pointed down the hall and waved me off like a lost tourist. “Welcome to North Haven, sweetheart.”
A new school. A new version of me.
Third period came faster than expected. Ms. Wren’s classroom was tucked away in the arts wing—paint splatters on the walls, old records hanging from strings, a baby grand piano tucked into the corner like a secret waiting to be told.
She smiled when she saw me. “Lina Novarro, right on time. I’ve heard you play piano?”
I nodded. “A little.”
“Perfect. You’re with Kai for the semester duet project.”
I turned, and that’s when I saw him.
Kai Rivera.
Headphones over messy dark hair. Hoodie zipped up high. Eyes cast down like the world didn’t deserve to meet them.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t even move when Ms. Wren gestured toward the seat next to him.
“Kai, this is Lina. You two will be working together until the showcase in April.”
He gave a single nod, barely acknowledging me.
Ms. Wren clapped her hands. “Alright, let’s get started!”
I sat down slowly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. Nothing. Not even a glance.
Fine.
I pulled out my notebook and pretended to take notes. But I couldn’t stop wondering about him. There was something heavy about the air around him, like silence wasn’t just his choice—it was his armor.
For the rest of the class, we didn’t say a word. But near the end, when Ms. Wren asked us to think about potential song ideas, I scribbled a note and slid it toward him.
> Hi. I’m not here to bother you. Just… here to make music.
He looked at the note. Then at me.
And for one second—just one—I saw something flicker behind his eyes.
Recognition? Curiosity?
Then it was gone.
He put his headphones back on.
And I smiled anyway.
