CRIMSON SHADOWS

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝟓: 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀:

The cafeteria's echoes linger in my mind as I push through the heavy doors and make my way down the corridor. Each step is a deliberate effort to move past the stifling tension of the confrontation with Anna. The faces of the students blur around me, their whispers and stares an indistinguishable hum against the backdrop of my own thoughts.

The hallways are quieter now, students either huddled in groups or shuffling towards their next class. I find myself navigating through the crowd, my thoughts still sharp with the sting of the altercation. My gaze is detached, skimming over the familiar faces until it locks onto a cluster of figures ahead—the IT squad of Orchard Hill, or rather, some of my old acquaintances.

There they are: the same faces that once orbited around me like satellites, their positions now barely altered by the passage of time. Their wealth and status have remained constant, a glittering veil that separates them from the everyday reality of the rest. I move past them with a practiced indifference, a silent acknowledgment of the shifting tides of social power.

Then I see him—William Sinclair. Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, the world narrows to the space between us. His presence is a jarring reminder of the life I had left behind when i moved to England. William, with his brooding intensity and an air of effortless sophistication, was someone I once knew in a way that was more than casual. There was something there before I left—a spark that now feels distant and almost foreign.

His gaze holds mine, an unspoken question lingering in the air between us. The familiarity of it cuts through the haze of my current detachment, bringing with it a swirl of unresolved feelings. It's as if his eyes are asking if anything has changed or if we're still the same two people who shared those fleeting moments of connection.

I glance away briefly, my mind racing through fragments of the past—our late-night conversations, the stolen glances, the quiet moments of understanding that once bridged the gap between us. I've changed, and I can't help but wonder if he has too, or if we're both just ghosts from a different time.

As I turn back to face him, I catch the faintest trace of a smile on his lips, one that speaks of recognition and maybe even regret. It's a smile that holds memories of a time when I was more than just a shadow of my former self, before the weight of grief and guilt took hold.

The moment is fleeting but charged, a silent exchange that defies the triviality of our present surroundings. I nod slightly in acknowledgment, a subtle gesture that acknowledges our shared past without delving into the complexities of the present. Then, with a final glance, I continue on my way to my last class of the day, the echo of his presence lingering in my thoughts.

As I make my way through the crowded halls, the weight of the day presses heavily upon me. I'm acutely aware of the distance that now separates me from the person I once was and the person I am becoming. The familiar faces, the whispers, the stares—all of it feels like a distant murmur against the backdrop of my own internal struggle.

The final bell rings, signaling the start of my last class. I enter the classroom, scanning the room for a place to sit. Being the new girl means that all the prime spots are already claimed, everyone nestled into their cliques like pieces of a puzzle that I no longer fit into. I spot an empty seat near the back, tucked away by the window, and make my way over. Heads turn as I pass, but I don't acknowledge them. I just want to get through this class and be done with the day.

I sink into the chair, the hard plastic uncomfortable beneath me, and pull out my notebook. The classroom fills up quickly, the air humming with quiet chatter as people find their places. I keep my head down, scribbling random lines of poetry in the margins of my notes. It's the only thing that still feels like mine, even if the words come out fragmented and broken.