Violet's POV
I always hated being the new girl.
There was something suffocating about walking into a place where everyone had already decided who they were—and worse, who you were. High school wasn't a movie. There were no grand welcomes, no locker-side confessions, no slow-motion hallway scenes. Just sideways glances, whispers behind binders, and the usual "where did she come from?" stares.
I kept my head low as I stepped through the front doors of Northpine High. My boots clicked faintly on the tiled floor, my backpack slightly heavier than necessary because I had packed every single textbook. Just in case.
It wasn't my first transfer. Not by a long shot. But something about this place felt… different.
Maybe it was the way the air smelled like pine and pencil shavings, or the warmth of the morning sunlight pouring in through tall glass windows. Maybe it was because, for the first time, I wasn't running from anything. This move hadn't come from panic or a midnight escape. Just a quiet relocation with my aunt to this sleepy town after Mom fell too sick to care for both of us.
I adjusted the sleeve of my cardigan, hiding the faded ink doodles on my wrist from the bus ride. A comfort habit. I did it in every new place—mapping little stars or phrases in looping cursive until the skin felt familiar.
"Name?" The woman at the front office barely looked up from her screen.
"Violet Lynne."
She typed a few keys and handed me a paper schedule without a word. Efficient. Cold. I took it and whispered a quiet thank you she probably didn't hear.
First period: English.
I walked the halls, glancing up at the room numbers, letting the soft murmur of voices and slamming lockers fade into the background. I had done this routine enough times to fake confidence. But that didn't stop my stomach from fluttering like a trapped bird.
And then I saw him.
Leaning against the doorframe of Room 102, his head tilted slightly like he was listening to someone inside. He laughed at something, a low sound that rumbled through the hallway like a wave brushing the sand. His brown curls were messy, just enough to seem accidental, and his eyes—when they flicked toward me—were like a storm. Dark blue, endless, unreadable.
He didn't smile. He didn't smirk. He just looked.
And something in me pulled taut.
I looked away first, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, careful to hide the ends. The tips—those strange purple strands I was born with—tended to attract attention. Questions. My classmates at my last school called me "fairy girl." Some thought it was cool. Most didn't.
I stepped into the room without another glance, slipping into a seat near the back. Safe. Invisible.
He entered a few moments later and—because fate clearly had a sense of humor—took the seat beside mine.
Of course.
The teacher, a thin man with wire-rim glasses and a nervous laugh, started droning on about Shakespeare and "modern relevance," but I couldn't focus. Not with him so close. He smelled faintly of pine and clean laundry. His knee brushed mine once, and I flinched so hard I dropped my pencil.
He bent down and picked it up before I could. His hand brushed mine.
"Sorry," he said, voice smooth, low.
"No problem," I mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
"I haven't seen you before," he added. "You new?"
I nodded.
"Cool. I'm Asher."
He didn't extend a hand. Just said it like a fact.
"Violet."
"Like the flower?" His lips tilted slightly at the corner. Not a full smile, but close.
"Like the color," I replied before I could stop myself.
He chuckled under his breath. "Fitting."
I tensed. "Because of my hair?"
His gaze flicked to the purple ends peeking from behind my shoulder. "Because of your eyes."
I blinked. Most people didn't notice my eyes right away. Too many were fixated on my hair. My mother used to say they looked like violets blooming at twilight—deep, secretive, and just a little strange.
He turned back to his book before I could respond, leaving a fluttering silence between us. Not awkward. Just… charged.
After class, I tried to slip out quickly, but he caught up.
"Need help finding your next class?" he asked, sliding his hands into his pockets as we walked into the hallway.
I hesitated. "You don't even know what it is."
He gave a half-smile. "Try me."
"Physics."
He raised an eyebrow. "Room 214. I'm heading that way."
Of course he was.
We walked side by side, not talking much, which was oddly comfortable. He didn't press me with questions like most people did. Didn't ask where I was from or why I transferred. Just let the quiet be.
As we reached the stairs, a girl with red curls and a bright pink hoodie called out from behind us.
"Asher!"
He turned, smiling this time. Full, radiant, real.
She ran up and looped her arm through his. "You ditched me this morning."
"Got caught up helping someone," he replied, glancing at me.
Her eyes landed on me. Assessed. Judged.
"Oh," she said. "New girl."
I gave a small nod. She didn't return it.
Asher's expression didn't change, but the tension in his jaw told me he noticed.
"Well," I said quickly. "Thanks for the help."
I turned before either of them could respond, taking the stairs two at a time.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those dark blue ones staring into mine. Not like he wanted something. Just like he saw something.
And that scared me more than anything.
Because no one ever really saw me.
Until now.