Weight of The Untold

Chapter 39

Kyla's POV

A few more days slipped by, each one pulling me closer to the moment I’d been quietly dreading—and secretly anticipating. The day I would finally leave home for college.

For the first time in my life, I was leaving the only place I had ever known.

Growing up, I never moved. Never packed boxes. Never said goodbye to rooms filled with memories. That house wasn’t just a building—it was my childhood, my safety, my history. Every wall had watched me grow up. Every corner knew me.

The soft click of my door unlocking pulled me from my thoughts.

My brother stepped inside.

“Hey,” he said gently.

“Hey,” I replied.

He hesitated, hands tucked into his pockets like he was trying to figure out where to start.
“I, um…” He sighed. “I know tonight is your last night here, so I wanted you to have something.”

He held out a box tied with a neat bow.

My heart tightened.

It was medium-sized. I opened it quickly, curiosity overtaking emotion.

“Oh wow,” I whispered.

Inside lay a silver anklet, sleek and elegant, diamonds embedded delicately at the center of the band. It shimmered under the light.

I pulled up the left leg of my jeans and slipped it on immediately. It fit perfectly—like it was made for me.

“I love it,” I said softly, kissing his cheek. “Thanks, Caleb.”

“I also made sure you had enough money for this week,” he added. “I’ll be sending it weekly now so you never lack.”

I laughed lightly.

“Yeah, I saw the money you sent. Honestly, it wasn’t necessary, I’m fine with my money from my allowances. It's more than enough.”

He shook his head firmly.
“I insist. I owe it to Dad to take care of you.”

My smile softened. Seeing him like this—protective, gentle—made something warm bloom in my chest.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “But I’ll be back for Thanksgiving, so don’t think you’re getting rid of me.”

He chuckled.
“I could never succeed even if I tried.”

---

One week later

“I don’t feel like going out, Hazel. You both can go.” I curled deeper into the couch, hugging myself.

“Stop being a boring bitch, Kyla. Let’s go,” Meg whined dramatically.

“I don’t feel too well,” I fake-cried into the cushion.

“Okay fine,” Hazel said, slipping off her heels. “Then we’re all staying in and pretending to be sick.”

They both sat down beside me.

It had been a week since we arrived. Beyond the usual chaos of the first week of school—finding classrooms, learning professors’ names, getting lost more times than I could count—it was mostly about adjusting.

The campus was massive, packed with accommodation halls. One hall was specifically for first-years—mostly scholarship students and those who couldn’t afford the insane off-campus living costs. Apparently, it was an odd year. Too many students. Too few rooms.

Twenty-one of us were assigned to Parc Cameron.

The apartments were nicer—actual bedrooms, more space, a small kitchen than what I was used to, a living room, a couch, even a TV. It felt like a tiny private apartment rather than a dorm.