The morning sun didn't feel as warm as usual.
Monica took a deep breath as she stood at the corridor between Betha and Omega. Her fingers curled nervously around the strap of her backpack. She spotted Lynx heading toward his class, hands in pockets, same sleepy gaze.
"Lynx!" she called out, jogging a little to catch up. "Did you bring the paper today?"
He paused mid-step, eyes blinking as if still waking up.
"Oh... right," he mumbled. "I forgot. Again. Sorry."
Monica smiled—just barely. "It's okay," she said softly, even though her stomach tightened.
It's not okay. It's for my assignment.
But she didn't say that out loud.
She never really could when it came to Lynx.
The next day, he was absent.
Monica had already tried calling him the evening before—seven times, no answer. No text, no call back.
By afternoon, she tried again. This time, he picked up.
"Sorry," he said, his voice groggy. "I overslept."
"It's okay," she replied, though her tone carried more weariness than she meant to show. "Just… don't forget about the paper, okay?"
"Got it," he replied. "I'll bring it tomorrow."
The next morning felt different the moment Monica stepped out of the car.
A long line of students was forming near the school's side gate—the place where students usually got dropped off. A teacher stood with a clipboard, scolding voices cutting through the buzz.
Latecomers.
Monica's heart sank.
She was late.
"Name?" the teacher asked curtly.
She gave it and joined the line, her head low. It felt like everyone could see her shame written on her back. Eventually, they were all gathered in the main hall and scolded—harsh words about punctuality and responsibility, echoing louder than necessary.
Back in class, the first and second periods were teacherless, a rare gap of silence. Students from Betha laughed, played card games, scrolled through phones. Monica tried to relax and laugh along.
Then the door creaked open.
The discipline teacher walked in—with a line of student council members behind him.
"Spot check at Omega class," one of Monica's classmates whispered.
The Omega students were in the science lab that period. Their bags? Still in the classroom.
Monica's heart skipped.
She wasn't even there—but her mind instantly thought of Lynx.
They're going through the bags.
One of her classmates—Myra, who was part of the student council—rushed off to join the check.
Minutes ticked by slowly. Too slowly.
When Myra returned, her expression said enough.
"They took Lynx's phone," she whispered to Monica as she slid back into her seat.
Monica stared, blinking. "What?"
"They checked the bags and saw his phone. He left it in his bag," Myra said quietly. "Discipline teacher took it."
Monica didn't say anything.
She just sank a little lower into her seat, letting the silence press on her like weight.
No paper. No call.
Now, no phone.
And still, somehow, her heart wouldn't let her stop caring.