Glass Roses and Cracks Beneath
921 Words
It started with a whisper.
Not the usual kind—the ones that fluttered through the marble halls like gossip butterflies, soft and harmless. No, this one was sharp. Intentional. It sliced through the air as I stepped into the conservatory, where the morning lecture on political dynasties was being held.
“She’s here.”
I didn’t need to look to know who they meant. My name had become a kind of currency lately—spoken with awe by some, with venom by others. Ever since Stellan had started walking beside me, talking to me, choosing me, the academy’s hierarchy had begun to ripple.
And Beatrice hated ripples.
The conservatory was a glass cathedral of sunlight and orchids. Vines curled around the iron beams overhead, and the floor was a mosaic of polished stone and gold leaf. Students lounged on velvet benches, sipping imported tea and flipping through their tablets. The air smelled like roses and tension.
I took my seat near the window, trying to disappear into the scenery. But admiration followed me like perfume.
“She’s so lucky.”
“Did you see her with Stellan yesterday?”
“I heard he opened the car door for her.”
I kept my eyes on my notebook, pretending to write. But my fingers trembled slightly.
Then the temperature dropped.
Beatrice passed by my class.
She wore a crimson blazer that looked custom-tailored to her fury. Her heels clicked against the stone like war drums, and her entourage followed in perfect formation. She didn’t look at me. Not yet. But I could feel her presence like a storm cloud gathering.
The instructor began the lecture, his voice echoing through the glass dome. I tried to focus on the history of prime ministers and royal scandals, but my mind was elsewhere—on the way Stellan had smiled at me yesterday, on the tulip still pressed between the pages of my journal, on the game we’d played and the way he’d chosen me.
And then, during the break, it happened.
I was walking toward the courtyard fountain, hoping for a moment of quiet, when Beatrice intercepted me.
“Aisha.”
I stopped.
She stood in front of me, arms crossed, eyes blazing. Her entourage formed a semicircle behind her, like a jury waiting to deliver a verdict.
“I think we need to talk,” she said, voice sweet as poison.
I nodded slowly. “Okay.”
She gestured toward the rose garden just beyond the courtyard. “Privately.”
I followed her, heart thudding. The garden was quiet, the air thick with the scent of blooming glass roses—genetically engineered to shimmer under sunlight. They looked perfect. Untouchable. Just like Beatrice wanted to be.
She turned to face me, her expression unreadable.
“You’ve been busy,” she said.
I said nothing.
“Arcades. Courtyards. Lunches. Tulips.”
Still, I stayed silent.
She stepped closer. “Do you know what you’re doing?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“To him,” she snapped. “To Stellan.”
I blinked. “I haven’t done anything.”
She laughed, bitter and brittle. “You think this is a game? You think you can just waltz into our world and steal the prince?”
“I didn’t steal anyone.”
“He’s mine,” she said, voice trembling. “He’s always been mine.”
I stared at her. “You don’t own him.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t belong here.”
“I’m not trying to belong,” I said quietly. “I’m just trying to exist.”
She stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re a fraud. Everyone knows it. You think they admire you? They’re watching you fall.”
I clenched my fists. “Then let them watch.”
She blinked, stunned by my defiance.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I said, voice steady. “I didn’t ask for his attention. But I won’t apologize for it either.”
Beatrice’s lips parted, but no words came out. For a moment, she looked… lost. Like she’d built her entire identity around a boy who hadn’t chosen her.
Then she recovered.
“You’ll regret this,” she said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She turned and walked away, her heels slicing through the silence.
I stood there, surrounded by glass roses, heart pounding.
And then I heard it.
Applause.
I turned.
A small group of students had gathered near the garden entrance. They’d heard everything. Some looked stunned. Others looked impressed.
One girl smiled at me. “You were amazing.”
Another nodded. “She needed to hear that.”
I felt warmth bloom in my chest. Not because I’d won. But because I hadn’t backed down.
Later that day, as I sat in the library courtyard with my coffee and my thoughts, Stellan appeared.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed.
“I heard,” he said softly.
I looked at him. “Everyone did.”
He smiled. “You were brave.”
I shrugged. “I was scared.”
“Still brave.”
We sat in silence, watching the ivy sway in the breeze.
Then he reached out and gently touched my hand.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Enough to remind me that even in a world of glass roses and whispered wars, there was something real blooming between us.
And it wasn’t going away.
- Writer
