PRESTIGE ACADEMY

Chapter Six: The Quiet Corner

Liyana’s POV

I wasn’t trying to find him.

I was just trying to breathe.

Prestige had this way of closing in on you. Everything here was sharp edges and cold marble. Even the silence had an echo. People walked like they were on runways. Spoke like every word had an agenda. I felt like an outlier in every room.

So, I escaped.

After my last class, I wandered down a hallway no one seemed to use, past the old art wing that smelled like turpentine and dust, until I found it an open courtyard tucked between the science block and the chapel.

There was a bench shaded by an overgrown tree, half forgotten. Leaves scattered on the ground. The kind of place the shiny people of Prestige probably didn’t even know existed.

I sat, finally letting my shoulders fall.

And that’s when I saw him.

Alexander Ford.

He was already there, on the opposite end of the courtyard, leaning against the stone wall, legs stretched out, earbuds in. A book rested on his knee, but his eyes weren’t moving across the page. He wasn’t reading.

He was thinking.

No retreating.

For a second, I panicked.

I shouldn’t be here.

This wasn’t just any student. This was the Ford everyone whispered about. The name that came with legends, rules, distance. And yet… he looked less like a mystery and more like a boy trying to hide in plain sight.

He looked… lonely.

I shifted slightly on the bench, unsure if I should stay or go.

He looked up.

Our eyes locked again just like they had on the first day. But this time, the look wasn’t accidental.

He studied me, and I didn’t shrink. I let him see that I wasn’t trying to impress him, or invade his silence. I was just… there.

He pulled out one earbud.

“You always sit here?” he asked, voice low and deliberate, like every word had to pass through layers of hesitation before it reached me.

I blinked. “First time.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

Silence fell between us again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was… open. Like a question waiting to be asked.

“You don’t like crowds either,” I said quietly, surprising myself.

He smirked, barely. “I like knowing who’s around me. Crowds make that difficult.”

I understood that too well.

We didn’t talk after that. Not much. But we didn’t leave either.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye his guarded posture, the way his fingers tapped the spine of his book rhythmically, like he was counting seconds to keep his mind steady.

He wasn’t cold.

He was careful.

And in that moment, I realized something neither of us had said out loud:

We were both pretending to belong in worlds that didn’t feel made for us.

He was born into his cage.

I’d fought my way into mine.

And yet, here we were two strangers in a forgotten corner of a perfect school, not speaking, but saying enough.

When I stood to leave, he didn’t stop me.

But as I passed him, he said, softly, “It’s quieter here. You can come back… if you want.”

I paused.

“I might,” I said.

And for the first time since arriving at Prestige, I didn’t feel invisible.