The Space Between us

1

Chapter One: First Day

The morning air felt heavy, clinging to Eden's skin like a fog she couldn't shake. She tugged her black sweater tighter around herself as she walked toward the looming school building, her headphones blocking out the chatter of students around her. Music was her armor, her shield against the noise of the world.

Her flared pants swished softly with every step, her black Converse scuffed from years of use. Eden had spent far too long staring at the ceiling of her bedroom that morning, debating whether or not to show up. School wasn't her safe place—it never had been—but it felt even worse now. It was a reminder of how much her life had unraveled over the past year, of all the things she'd lost.

Her best friend—former best friend—had been her anchor for so long. But when she needed her most, she left. Chose someone else. And now Eden was on her own. The thought stung like an old wound she'd accidentally brushed against. She tried not to think about it, focusing instead on the music blaring through her headphones.

The school doors loomed ahead, taller than they seemed last year, almost suffocating. She pushed them open and stepped into the chaos of the first day. The hallways were alive with excitement—friends reuniting, schedules being compared, backpacks unzipped in hurried attempts to find pens or notebooks. It felt like everyone belonged somewhere. Everyone except Eden.

She slipped through the crowd, avoiding eye contact and brushing past groups of people with practiced ease. Her goal was simple: get to her first-period class and survive the day. As she turned a corner, someone bumped into her shoulder.

"Sorry," they mumbled, but Eden just nodded, keeping her headphones in. She didn't have the energy for small talk or confrontation, not today.

By the time she reached her first class, the bell was about to ring. She scanned the room, avoiding the clusters of students already forming in their seats, and found a desk near the back. Perfect. Quiet, out of the way, and with no one sitting directly beside her. She slid into the chair and set her notebook on the desk, her sleeves pulled over her hands as she fidgeted with the edges of the paper.

She glanced around briefly, her eyes catching on the boy sitting a few seats to her left. He was hunched over his desk, his pencil moving absently as he doodled on the corner of a notebook. His dark hair was messy, like he'd rolled out of bed and given up halfway through trying to fix it, and he wore a faded hoodie that hung loosely over his frame. There was something about him—something quiet and closed-off—that caught her attention.

He didn't seem interested in the first-day excitement either. His posture was slouched, his eyes distant, like he was anywhere but here. For a moment, Eden wondered what his story was. Why he looked like he felt as out of place as she did.

She quickly looked away when the teacher walked in, calling the class to order. The sound of rustling papers and shuffling bags filled the room as everyone settled in, but Eden's thoughts kept drifting back to the boy. There was something oddly familiar about him—not in a way that she thought she'd seen him before, but in the way he carried himself. Quiet. Withdrawn.

The teacher's voice faded into the background as Eden stared down at her notebook, her pen poised but unmoving. She wasn't ready for this—wasn't ready to be back in a place that felt so loud and suffocating. But something about the boy a few seats away made her pause.

He hadn't looked at anyone, hadn't said a word, but there was something about his silence that felt like it matched her own.

Maybe it didn't matter. Eden wasn't here to make friends, to form connections. She was just here to get through the year. That was it. That had to be enough.

But as she stole one more glance at the boy, catching the way his pencil scratched lazily against the page, she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—she wasn't as alone as she thought.