Chapter 17 — The Day After
Lyra's POV
I didn't go to school today.
My alarm went off at seven, blaring that same cheery tone I used to love, but I just… let it ring. The sound filled the room for a while before I finally reached out and turned it off. Silence flooded in, thick and heavy, like even the air wanted me to stay still.
I stared at the ceiling until my eyes burned.
For a long time, I didn't even move.
It's strange how fast everything can fall apart.
Yesterday morning, I thought I had people — real, solid people who cared. Friends who laughed too loud, who always ordered too much coffee at Clover's Café, who swore we'd make senior year unforgettable. Now, I can't think about their faces without feeling something sharp twist inside me.
I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow. My eyes sting, but no tears come. I think I ran out of those last night.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, my reflection startles me. My hair's a mess, and my eyes look dull, like someone drained the light out of them. The necklace Evan gave me — the little silver star — hangs cold against my skin. I trace it with my fingers. It used to make me feel safe, like I was carrying a piece of him wherever I went.
Now it just feels… heavy.
I splash water on my face. Pretend it helps. Pretend I'm okay.
Downstairs, the smell of coffee fills the air. My mom's already up, papers spread across the table — sketches and blueprints from her new project. She looks up when she hears me, her tired eyes softening a little.
"Morning, sweetheart. You're up early."
"Yeah," I lie easily. "Couldn't sleep."
She sets her pencil down, her gaze lingering on me longer than I'd like. "You're not going to school today?"
I shrug, pouring a glass of milk I have no intention of drinking. "I don't feel that good. Might've caught something."
Her expression flickers — worry, maybe suspicion — but she doesn't press. My mom's always been the type to wait until I talk. She's patient, even when I wish she wasn't.
"Well, rest, okay? We'll be leaving for Lumera tomorrow, so I want you to feel better by then."
Lumera. My old city. My old school.
The word makes my stomach twist.
"Yeah," I mumble. "I'll be fine."
But fine is a word that doesn't mean much anymore.
I spend most of the morning sitting by the window, staring out at the street. Kids are walking to school in their uniforms, laughing. The kind of laughter that used to make me smile. Now it sounds distant, muffled, like it's happening in another world.
I scroll through my phone for a while — no messages from anyone. Not from Soraya or Saphira. Not from Aveline. Not from Evan.
I shouldn't expect one.
They're probably still trying to figure out how to talk to me. How to explain that my entire friendship, my entire life with them, was a game they played when they were bored.
I close my phone and set it facedown.
By afternoon, I help my mom pack. We load the car with boxes, clothes, the art supplies I couldn't leave behind. She hums softly under her breath, some old OPM song she used to sing when I was little. It almost makes me smile.
Almost.
The drive to Lumera feels endless. The roads twist through the city, and every turn feels like stepping backward in time. The closer we get, the heavier my chest feels. I haven't been here in years — not since I transferred to Saint Valley High.
I used to think leaving was my second chance.
Now I'm not so sure I deserve one.
When we finally reach my Lola's house, the smell of jasmine and fresh bread greets us before we even knock. She opens the door herself — small, smiling, still wearing the same floral aprons she's worn for as long as I can remember.
"Lyra!" she exclaims, pulling me into her arms before I can say a word. "Ay, ang laki mo na! Look at you!"
Her warmth nearly undoes me. I cling to her a little tighter than I should, burying my face against her shoulder. She smells like home — sugar, flowers, and the kind of love that doesn't need to be spoken aloud.
"I missed you, Lola," I whisper. My voice cracks halfway through.
She pats my cheek gently, her smile dimming just a little as she studies my face. "You look tired, apo. Everything okay?"
I nod quickly. "Yeah. Just school stuff."
She doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way her eyes soften, but she lets it go. Instead, she starts fussing over us — setting the table, telling my mom about the neighbors, about the new bakery that opened nearby. I listen, but the words wash over me like background noise.
That night, I unpack in the small guest room that used to be mine. The walls are still a soft yellow, though a little faded now. There are faint pencil marks near the corner from when I used to draw on the walls, back when things were simple.
I remember how this school used to be — how the kids whispered when I passed by, the names they called me, the notes they left on my locker. Half-Filipino, half-something-else. Too quiet. Too weird. The art girl with scars she tried to hide under long sleeves.
I thought I'd left all of that behind when we moved to Saint Valley.
I thought I'd built a new version of myself.
But maybe I was wrong.
Maybe no matter where I go, I'll always be the girl people only pretend to care about.
My mom knocks softly on the door before coming in. "You okay, honey?"
"Yeah."
The lie tastes like metal.
She hesitates, then nods, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Get some rest. We'll visit your old school tomorrow — maybe see some of your teachers, hmm?"
I nod again, pretending to be half-asleep already.
When she leaves, the silence creeps back in. I sit on the edge of the bed, fingers playing with the star pendant around my neck.
It used to shine so bright.
Now it feels dim — like me.
I lie back and stare at the ceiling until my vision blurs.
Tomorrow will come whether I'm ready or not.
And maybe pretending is easier than feeling anything at all.