Mary sat quietly on the stone bench outside Emerson Hall, her eyes lifted to the pale blue sky, where clouds drifted like memories—soft, silent, and out of reach
She used to stare at skies like this from the balcony of their old house in D.C., where life was still golden—before the lawyers, before the silence, before everything collapsed.
Back then, she had a driver, a walk-in closet, and a mother who hummed while setting the table for five.
Now it was just her and her mother in a tiny Boston apartment that smelled like dust.
The scholarship kept her enrolled. The part-time job kept the lights on. Pride kept her from breaking.
She blinked slowly, her thoughts drifting to the face of her father—frozen in her memory like a paused movie. He used to say they were untouchable.
But someone had touched them.
And taken everything.
The wind picked up, rustling the early fall leaves. She pulled her thin jacket tighter and closed her eyes for just a moment longer, wishing she could float up into the sky, back to before.
Then a tap on her shoulder.
She flinched.
"Hey—sorry," a voice said. "Are you waiting for Professor Elliot's class too?"
Mary turned.
The boy standing before her had hazel eyes, skin warm like polished bronze, and a smile like he wasn't carrying any ghosts.
He looked… untouched.
"Yeah," she said, blinking. "I was just… thinking."
He chuckled lightly. "Mind if I wait here too?"
She shook her head.
"No. Go ahead."
He sat beside her. Close, but not too close.
"I'm Drake," he added after a pause, extending his hand.
Mary stared at it. Something flickered in the back of her mind, but the memory didn't come
She took his hand anyway.
"I'm Mary."
And just like that, two pasts began to orbit again—without either of them knowing they were born from the same storm.
Inside the lecture hall, the weight settled back onto Mary's shoulders.
Bright lights, clean blazers, sleek laptops, expensive water bottles. Girls with glossy hair and designer bags. Boys with easy laughter and polished watches
She tucked her hands into her sleeves as she sat down, second row from the back. Drake followed and took the seat beside her.
Around them, students exchanged greetings and weekend stories—things she couldn't afford to join in, literally or emotionally.
Mary stayed quiet.
Her hoodie felt thin. Her sneakers suddenly felt like paper. Her bag, worn at the edges, sagged in her lap like a reminder: You don't belong here anymore.
Drake glanced at her. She could feel it. His gaze wasn't heavy, but it made her feel like her silence was too loud
"You okay?" he asked softly, leaning in just enough so only she could hear.
She opened her mouth to say yes, but nothing came out.
Then—
"Mary?"
She turned at the sound of her name, and her face broke into something she hadn't worn all morning: a real smile
"Stephen!"
He strode over casually, dressed in his usual calm, classic style—fitted sweater, jeans, and that ever-present, easy confidence that didn't need to announce itself.
Mary stood up to hug him. Not shy now. Not timid.
She laughed as he squeezed her once and pulled back, holding her arms like someone who truly knew her.
"Look at you," she said with a grin, teasing him. "Still stealing all the clean air and attention."
Stephen chuckled. "And you're still allergic to compliments, but somehow glowing anyway."
Drake watched quietly.
For the first time, he saw her properly—not just the girl in the hoodie. Not just quiet.
Her smile lit up the space around her.
Her laughter wasn't loud, but it wrapped around you like warmth.
Her eyes—dark brown and wide—held stories. Her skin, a smooth caramel brown, glowed under the soft light.
She was beautiful in a way that felt… unpracticed. Effortless. Real.
And she hadn't smiled like that at him.
"Who's your friend?" Stephen asked, glancing at Drake with easy curiosity.
Drake stood up slightly. "Drake."
"Stephen," he nodded, then looked back at Mary. "New friend?"
Mary hesitated.
Drake noticed.
"Classmate," she said lightly. "We met a few minutes ago."
Drake didn't know why that reply bothered him—but it did.
Stephen smiled politely at him and then sat beside Mary, their conversation continued
Drake leaned back in his seat, staring at the front of the lecture hall, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
Something about Mary pulled at him. And something about Stephen's presence felt like a quiet wall between them.
He didn't understand it yet.
But he wanted to.
Drake didn't say much after that.
He sat still, eyes on the whiteboard at the front of the hall, but his gaze kept drifting—back to her.
The way she smiled when she talked to Stephen wasn't the same smile she gave him. That smile had warmth, history, maybe even safety.
And he was a stranger.
Stephen caught him looking.
Just for a second, their eyes met—Stephen's calm but curious, as if asking:
Do you know her?
Drake blinked and looked away, suddenly aware of how awkward he must look.
He wasn't used to feeling like the outsider.
As the professor began the lecture, the air between the three of them felt heavy.
Mary didn't speak to Drake again. Not a word.
Not even a glance.
Drake sat through the rest of the class listening—but not really hearing.
When the lecture ended, Stephen stood up first. Mary followed. Her laugh faded, and the warm glow she'd carried earlier dimmed again as she slung her bag over her shoulder.
Drake remained seated for a beat longer, watching her walk ahead, braid swinging softly against her back.
Who is she?
And why does it feel like I've just missed something important?
He stood and followed them into the hallway, the sound of chairs scraping and students filing out