Chapter Six: Paper Hearts and Quiet Things
(Lyra's POV)
If you asked me a month ago what "normal" felt like, I wouldn't have known how to answer.
But now, it's walking through Saint Valley High with paint still clinging to my nails, a math notebook filled with Cassian's neat handwriting, and Soraya yelling from across the courtyard,
"LYRA! YOU'RE COMING TO LUNCH WITH US!"
I don't even bother pretending to protest anymore.
The cafeteria hums with chatter and the smell of pizza. Our group claims a table by the windows — the one apparently "reserved by destiny," as Soraya puts it.
"Reserved by the fact that no one dares to steal our spot," Evan corrects, setting his tray down.
"Because you glare at them," Saphira mutters.
"It's an efficient system," he says, shrugging.
I laugh quietly as I slide into my seat. It feels… easy. Easier than I thought high school could.
"So, Lyra," Soraya begins, twirling her straw, "you've been in Saint Valley for, what, three weeks now?"
"Something like that."
"And you still haven't told us anything about yourself."
I freeze, spoon halfway to my mouth. "That's not true."
"You've told us you like books," Cassian says gently. "And that you hate math."
"See? That's plenty."
Soraya smirks. "That's two facts. We're aiming for five minimum."
Saphira leans forward, chin resting on her hands. "Do you have any siblings?"
I shake my head. "No. It's just me and my mom."
"Where's your dad?" Aveline asks softly — not nosy, just curious.
My throat tightens before I can stop it. I set my fork down. "He's… gone. Died when a few years ago."
The table goes still. Not awkward — just quiet. Respectful.
"Oh," Saphira says gently. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I lie, forcing a small smile. "It was a long time ago."
They move on, thankfully.
Soraya tells a story about her and Saphira's last cheer competition — how they accidentally set off the mascot's tail on fire ("long story, don't ask"), and everyone bursts out laughing.
Aveline mentions she's in the debate club. "Mostly because I like arguing," she says, deadpan.
Cassian wants to join the photography elective next semester. "I like catching moments people don't notice."
And Evan — well, Evan doesn't say much. He just listens, gaze flicking between us like he's memorizing the sound of laughter.
When Soraya nudges him, saying, "Your turn, golden boy," he sighs.
"There's nothing to tell," he mutters.
"Please," Saphira says. "You've got layers. Spill one."
He hesitates — then says, almost too casually, "My mom passed away when I was ten."
The table quiets again.
"Oh," I breathe, not knowing what else to say.
He shrugs. "It's fine. It's been a while." Then, glancing at me, he adds, "Guess we have something in common, huh?"
Something shifts in my chest. For once, his tone isn't teasing. It's gentle. Real.
"Guess we do," I say quietly.
The rest of the day unfolds like a collage of moments.
In English, Saphira reads her essay out loud and gets applause. In Science, Cassian patiently explains the lab steps while Evan mixes the wrong chemicals on purpose just to make Soraya laugh.
By the time the final bell rings, I've learned more about them than I expected — and somehow, I want to learn more.
After class, I linger at my locker, tucking a novel inside. Evan passes by, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
"You really read that much?" he asks.
"Only when I need to escape reality," I say.
He nods, like he gets it. "Yeah. Some of us do that differently."
Before I can ask what he means, Cassian calls his name from down the hall.
"Come on, Vale! Coach is looking for you!"
"Right," Evan says, then glances back at me. "See you tomorrow, Solnne."
It's strange how he says my name — like it's a challenge and a promise all at once.
At home, Mom's drafting plans on her laptop, pencil behind her ear. The living room smells like coffee and fresh paper.
"How was school?" she asks without looking up.
"Good," I say, dropping my bag on the couch. "Better, actually."
"That's wonderful."
She glances up then — eyes soft, proud, a little tired. "You're starting to sound like yourself again."
Maybe. Or maybe, for the first time, I'm finding out who that really is.
That night, I sit by my window sketching — Soraya's grin, Cassian's calm expression, Saphira mid-laugh, Aveline's focused eyes, and Evan, staring off somewhere no one else can see.
Underneath, I write in small, careful letters:
"Maybe belonging doesn't come all at once. Maybe it arrives in pieces."
And for once, the thought doesn't scare me.