SWIPE RIGHT FOR THE ALPHA

CHAPTER SIX

ARIA

I woke to the smell of soup simmering on the stove, a faint steam curling toward my bedroom door. Morning light filtered through the thin curtains, casting long, pale streaks across my room. The familiar, slightly burnt scent of yesterday’s soup reminded me of home — warm but tired, like everything around us had been slowly worn down.

“Hey, want some breakfast!” my mother called from the kitchen.

I shook my head without getting out of bed. “No, thanks,” I mumbled, my voice hoarse from the night’s worries.

She appeared at my doorway, her face lined with fatigue and frustration, her hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Aria, don’t shut yourself away. Come eat something.”

I swung my legs over the bed and rubbed at my eyes. “Mum… I am fine, I’ll fix this. I promise. Don’t you worry.”

Her sigh carried more weight than words could hold. “I wish you could. I blame your father for all this… if only he was still here to pay child support, maybe we wouldn’t be struggling so much.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced a smile. “Don’t worry about him, Mama. We’ll be fine.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on me for a moment before returning to the soup. I grabbed my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and left the house. The morning air was cool, brushing against my cheeks and pulling my thoughts toward school, toward a day that promised little comfort and more questions.

The streets were bustling with the usual morning chaos. Children darted through puddles, their laughter bouncing off the walls. Vendors shouted over sizzling pans and clanging pots. I kept my eyes on the cracks in the pavement, letting my feet guide me along the familiar path to school. My bag felt heavy, not just from textbooks, but from yesterday’s exhaustion, my mother’s worry, and the gnawing uncertainty tightening in my chest. Focus, Aria. Just focus.

By the time I reached the school courtyard, a bulletin board near the entrance caught my eye. Something had been posted overnight:

“Attention Students: New Program Announcements. Mandatory Briefing Today.”

My stomach twisted. Mandatory? Programs weren’t usually compulsory. I tried to shake off the uneasy feeling curling in my chest. Schools made changes all the time — it didn’t mean anything.

Inside the classroom, the familiar hum of chatter greeted me. I slid into my usual seat by the window, the gray light of morning casting pale shadows across the desks. My notebook lay open in front of me, but the words refused to come. My mind kept drifting to Adrian — the impossible calm in his posture, the flicker of gold in his eyes, the way he moved like the world belonged to him. I shook my head. Stop thinking about him. Focus.

The classroom door opened suddenly, and the principal stepped in. Silence fell immediately, sharp and heavy. She moved with quiet authority, heels clicking against the tile floor, her eyes sweeping over every student.

“Good morning, students,” she began, her voice firm but deliberate. “I know it’s the start of the semester, and everyone is adjusting. But there’s an important announcement.”

Whispers erupted around the room, but she held up a hand, and the murmurs died down.

“We’ve made adjustments to the curriculum this semester,” she said, scanning the room with a measured gaze. “Changes that are necessary to prepare you for what lies ahead.”

My stomach tightened. What lies ahead? The words pressed against me like a heavy weight, sinking into my chest.

She continued, her voice softening slightly, though it carried a weight that made my pulse quicken. “We’ve noticed that some students possess particular abilities, traits that set them apart from the majority. Differences that cannot be ignored any longer.”

A ripple of murmurs ran through the classroom. I felt my fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. Differences? Abilities? My thoughts immediately went to Adrian. Could he be one of them? Could I be? The thought made my chest tighten, a mix of fear and curiosity curling inside me.

“There will be a briefing tomorrow,” the principal added. “Details on instructors and new courses will be shared. Attendance is mandatory. Cooperation is expected.”

No one spoke. The tension was thick, a tangible thing pressing down on us all. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing thoughts. My pulse drummed in my ears, drowning out the low hum of the air conditioning and the scraping of chairs as students fidgeted.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, the usual rush of movement felt muted, like everyone was trying to process what had just been said. I gathered my bag slowly, still trying to absorb the implications of “abilities” and “differences.” The world felt… different. Heavier. Charged, like a storm waiting to break.

“Aria.”

I turned to see Jenna slipping beside me, her brow furrowed with concern.

“What do you think this curriculum is about?” she asked quietly, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

I hesitated. My throat felt dry, and a flutter of unease coiled in my stomach. “How would I know?” I muttered, keeping my tone casual though my heart was hammering.

“Are you okay?” she pressed, her voice softer now. “You’ve seemed… off for a few days.”

I forced a small smile, though it didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “Okay… then why did you stop your tutorials for Adrian?”

My chest tightened. I froze, unsure how much she had heard. “I… I didn’t do that,” I stammered.

“Of course you did,” she said, leaning slightly closer, her tone sharp now. “I heard you dismissed your students when he came to join.”

I shook my head, frustration pricking at me. “People say a lot of things, Jenna. That didn’t happen.”

She studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine as if trying to see behind the wall I’d built. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. “Alright, if you say so,” she muttered, staring at me suspiciously.

Her words lingered in my mind, twisting with the echoes of the principal’s announcement.

Even people closest to me noticed the cracks I was trying desperately to hide. Whispers followed me like shadows, and the tension in my chest refused to loosen.

I let out a quiet exhale and hugged my bag closer, grounding myself in the familiar weight of its straps.

The hallways were busier now, filled with students shuffling to their next classes, but everything felt unreal. The principal’s words, the uncertainty, Jenna’s questions — all pressed against me, heavy and relentless.

Finally, I shook my head and whispered to myself, more to break the silence than anything else. “I can’t… I just can’t handle all of this right now.”

“Look,” I said quietly, hoping Jenna wouldn’t hear me, though her shadow lingered nearby, “I… I really need to—”

“Need to what?” she asked, tilting her head, concern etched in her features.

I forced a strained smile, my voice quieter than I intended. “Excuse me… I need to see Mr. Thorne.”

Her brow furrowed, concern still lingering, but she didn’t press further. I turned, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and walked away down the crowded hallway, my steps quick and purposeful.

The chatter and laughter around me became distant, muffled, as if I were moving through a different world. My heart still pounded — a mix of nerves, anticipation, and something I couldn’t name. I didn’t know what this new curriculum or the briefing would entail, or why I felt this strange, gnawing tension in my chest.