The Butterfly Effect

Part four The Butterfly

Nova

"What are you doing up so early?"

My mom's voice breaks the quiet as she walks into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes and heading straight for the coffee pot. I'm at the stove, carefully flipping an omelette—trying to recreate the one Daisuke made me the other day. It was so good. I wanted to see if I could make one even close.

"I'm... making breakfast," I mumble, stumbling over my words as usual.

"Oh, okay. Make sure you wash the dishes when you're done," she says as she starts her coffee, her voice still wrapped in the softness of morning.

"Kay," I reply, eyes fixed on the sizzling pan.

I hadn't slept at all last night. My mind wouldn't let me. Thoughts tangled themselves into knots until I couldn't tell one from another. But somewhere in that sleepless haze, I found clarity. I knew what I had to do.

I didn't want to, but it was the safest choice.

I'd tell my parents today. Not everything—just enough. The rest would come later, maybe. If I could bring myself to say it out loud. School starts tomorrow, and the thought of walking those halls again makes my stomach twist into knots.

"Something smells good," my dad, O'Neil, says as he steps into the kitchen, his voice low and warm.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey. What're you making?" he asks, rinsing his hands in the sink.

"Omelettes. Do... do you want one?"

"Yes, please," he replies with a smile.

I return it with a small one of my own and slide a finished omelette onto a plate for him.

"How was your week, honey?" he asks, settling into his seat.

I hesitate. The word week feels heavy—like it's holding more than I can explain.

"It was..." I trail off, searching for something lighter than the truth. "Okay."

"That's good to hear."

I hand him his plate, trying to ignore the lump building in my throat. I finish cooking the last two omelettes, one for Mom, one for me, and bring them over to the table.

They sit across from me, unaware of the storm brewing behind my smile.

"I need to tell you both something," I say quietly, taking a deep breath. My fingers tremble slightly as I fold them in my lap.

"You remember when you talked about sending me to boarding school?"

My dad raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Well... I want to go."

He blinks, caught off guard. "But I thought everything was going fine—with your project and all?"

"It is. It's just... I feel like boarding school might be a better fit for me right now."

There's a pause. A heavy, careful silence.

"Nova... are you sure?" he asks gently. "This is a big decision."

"I'm sure. I—I want to go," I say, trying to sound firm despite the wobble in my voice.

My parents exchange a look, their eyes speaking in ways words can't. My mom nods slowly.

"If that's what you really want, we'll support you," she says softly.

I nod in return, even as my dad studies me with furrowed brows.

"Once you make this decision, Nova, you can't just change your mind. That's your life for the next two years," he warns.

"I know. I really want this."

He exhales, then finally nods. "Okay. I'll start the paperwork tomorrow."

Relief floods me—cool and sharp. The sooner this happens, the better. I won't have to face Amir again. I won't have to see the whispers, the pity, the questioning looks if anyone ever finds out what he did to me.

But even as I imagine escape, a pang of guilt strikes deep. My friends... I don't know how I'm going to tell them. They've been my lifeline, my laughter, my peace. Without them, it'll feel like I've left pieces of myself behind.

And Daisuke...

I'll miss him most of all. But what's the point of hoping for anything? He's graduating this year. He'll move on and leave high school behind. I never had a chance, anyway. Once he's gone, he'll forget about me, just like everyone else eventually does.

The hard truth settles in:
I'm leaving, not just a place—but a version of myself. And maybe that's what scares me the most.

My eyes sting as the thought forms fully. I blink rapidly, hoping they won't notice the tears.

"Did you hear me, Nova?" my dad asks, snapping me back to the room.

"No—sorry. What did you say?" I ask, wiping quickly at the corners of my eyes.

"I said... this is really good," he says, smiling genuinely.

A small warmth blossoms in my chest. His approval is rare, and I hold on to it tightly.

"Thanks," I say softly, smiling back. For a moment, the ache quiets.

But I know it won't stay gone for long.