The morning sunlight pierced the curtains with a cruel precision, dragging Amina out of sleep before her body was ready. Her head throbbed faintly, a dull echo of adrenaline and the few drinks from last night's escape. She shifted under the blankets, the weight of reality settling heavily back onto her chest. St. Celeste's felt smaller in the daylight. Harsh. Judging. Every wall, every corner, every polished surface whispered that she didn't belong here.
Clara stirred beside her, blinking sleep from wide eyes, her face pale but illuminated with a quiet excitement. "Did… did anyone notice last night?" she whispered, voice barely audible.
Amina smirked, stretching lazily. "Not a chance. We were ghosts. Shadows. Don't worry." But even as she said it, a twinge of worry cut through her confidence. What if someone had seen them? What if the consequences were waiting, hidden in the neat, polished corridors?
Breakfast was tense, a silent minefield. The girls filed into the dining hall, trays clattering against the counters, eyes downcast, voices muted. Amina noticed whispers, subtle glances, the kind that weren't quite pointed at her-but maybe were. A thrill of paranoia raced through her chest. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was everything.
Clara slid in beside her, fidgeting with the hem of her uniform. "I think… someone might've seen us. Maybe one of the older girls."
Amina raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?" She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You worry too much. Rules are meant to be broken, Clara. Remember that."
Clara's eyes flicked around the room. She nodded, but the nervous energy radiating from her was contagious. Amina felt her pulse quicken-not from fear this time, but from excitement. The first crack in the system had been made. And now, the game had begun.
Their first class was mathematics, and Amina sat at the back of the room, pretending to scribble notes while her mind raced. The walls were immaculate, adorned with precise charts and diagrams, every desk perfectly aligned, every student rigid in posture. She noticed the teacher's eyes flicker toward her more than once, sharp and calculating, as if measuring whether she was a problem-or a project.
During a brief lull in the lesson, Amina glanced toward Clara. The girl was scribbling something in the margin of her notebook, biting her lip. Amina leaned over. "What's that?"
Clara glanced up, cheeks flushing. "Just… writing down what happened last night."
Amina grinned. "Perfect. Keep it safe. Our little secret."
The thrill of shared defiance created an invisible bond between them, one that felt electric. Every glance, every whisper, every heartbeat carried the unspoken promise: we're in this together.
Lunch came, a rigid affair, and rumours began to swirl. Amina could feel them even before she noticed them: the subtle shift in atmosphere, the barely-perceptible glances, the way older girls whispered behind perfectly composed hands. A boy in the courtyard-though St. Celeste's was strictly girls-only, some boys came for Saturday classes-paused mid-step and glanced her way. Amina felt a surge of mischief, imagining the stories she would inspire without ever needing to speak a word.
Clara was tense, picking at her food. "We need to be careful. If anyone finds out… they could get us in real trouble."
Amina waved her off. "Trouble is part of the fun." But even she couldn't entirely ignore the cold weight pressing into her chest. St. Celeste's was strict, and for every loophole she found, there were rules ready to punish her if discovered.
The afternoon passed slowly, filled with lessons in history and religion, each reinforcing obedience and morality, each tightening the invisible chains around every girl's wrist. Amina sat in the back, resisting as best she could, letting her mind wander to the night before-the music, the laughter, the feel of freedom coursing through her veins. She closed her eyes briefly and imagined the streets of Havana, neon lights reflecting off wet pavement, friends shouting over bass-heavy music. A small smile tugged at her lips.
By the end of the school day, tension had mounted. Amina and Clara returned to their dormitory, the quiet of the halls pressing in. Amina could feel the eyes of unseen authority on them, felt the weight of suspicion in the air, and yet… she felt alive. She had tested the boundaries, pushed against the walls, and survived. That survival, that thrill, coursed through her veins like fire.
"You're crazy," Clara whispered as they closed the door behind them.
Amina laughed softly, sitting on the bed. "Crazy? Maybe. But it's better than obedient."
Hours passed. Amina moved quietly around the room, unpacking a bit, organizing her things with deliberate sloppiness-small rebellions in an otherwise controlled environment. She watched Clara study her quietly, curiosity mixed with apprehension. Amina could tell Clara wanted to be careful, wanted to follow rules. But the pull of rebellion had found her too. She had seen it flicker in Clara's eyes, that tiny spark that only needed a nudge.
By evening, the girls were talking softly, sharing thoughts in whispers. Amina leaned back against the wall, legs stretched across the floor. "We can do more than just sneak out," she said, voice low. "We can push the boundaries, little by little. Make this place ours… in our own way."
Clara hesitated, biting her lip. "I… I don't know. I've never done anything like this."
Amina smiled faintly, leaning closer. "Neither had I, before Havana. You're stronger than you think. And besides… it's fun."
The thrill was intoxicating, a mixture of fear, excitement, and power. Amina felt a plan beginning to take shape, something bigger than a single night, a single escape. She could see how St. Celeste's rules bent, how the authority could be manipulated, how the girls who thought they were obedient could become allies in subtle defiance.
Later that night, after lights-out, Amina lay awake again, listening to the quiet hum of the dormitory. The thrill of the night before lingered, a warm pulse in her chest. She imagined the weeks ahead: small acts of rebellion, whispered secrets, hidden laughter, the rush of being untouchable. And somewhere deep inside, the first stirrings of danger whispered to her-a reminder that every action had consequences, that the walls of St. Celeste's were not so fragile that they could never crush those who defied them.
But Amina smiled. Danger was part of the thrill. And she had never been more alive.