Arista's pov
The air felt charged the moment I stepped into school, like everything was humming beneath the surface—wires, voices, emotions—all vibrating at the same frequency.
Festival week had officially entered its dangerous phase.
The kind where people stopped pretending they weren't exhausted, where tempers snapped faster, and where truth had a habit of slipping out when no one was ready for it.
I adjusted the strap of my bag and scanned the hallway. Meera and Sana were already arguing about schedules. Zoe was fixing a loose poster that refused to stay straight.
Advi stood near the windows, waving at me like nothing in the world could possibly go wrong.
And for a second, I believed her.
Then I saw Kaelor.
He was near the sound desk this time, crouched slightly as he checked the mic wires with one of the tech volunteers. His sleeves were rolled up again—why was that always a thing?—and his focus was sharp, almost intense.
I told myself not to stare.
I failed.
There was something about the way he moved through chaos like it didn't touch him, like he understood disorder and still chose calm. It made my chest feel… full. Safe. And nervous.
I looked away before my thoughts betrayed me.
Rehearsals were a mess.
One mic screeched so loudly that half the auditorium flinched. Someone forgot their cue. Sana nearly declared war on a junior for touching her clipboard.
"Deep breaths," Meera muttered beside me. "We're not dying today."
"Speak for yourself," Sana snapped.
I smiled despite myself.
But even as laughter bubbled around me, my awareness kept drifting—to Kaelor's quiet presence near the stage, to Derek's eyes following me whenever he thought I wasn't looking.
Static.
That's what it felt like inside my head.
During a short break, I slipped outside to the steps near the auditorium, needing air. The sky was cloudy, heavy with the promise of rain. I sat down, resting my elbows on my knees.
"You run away when things get loud."
His voice wasn't accusing. Just observant.
I glanced up. "You follow."
Kaelor sat beside me, not too close, not too far. The space between us felt deliberate—like a mutual agreement neither of us had spoken aloud.
"I make sure you're okay," he said.
That made my throat tighten.
"I am," I replied softly. "I think."
He looked at me then. Really looked. Like he was memorizing something fragile.
"You don't have to be strong all the time."
I laughed quietly. "I don't know how not to be."
He didn't answer immediately.
"I do," he said finally. "And it's not as freeing as people think."
Something in his tone—controlled, distant—made me wonder what it had cost him to learn that.
Before I could ask, a shout echoed from inside, calling us back.
The moment broke.
But it didn't disappear.
From Kaelor's perspective, sitting beside her felt dangerous.
Not because of rumors or drama—but because of how easily she trusted the quiet between them. How she didn't ask him to explain himself, didn't demand reassurance.
She simply existed next to him.
And that terrified him more than rejection ever could.
Because he wanted to protect that calm.
And he wasn't sure his world would let him.
Inside, Derek intercepted me near the corridor leading to backstage.
"You're busy," he said, tone light, eyes sharp.
"So is everyone," I replied.
"You've been… distant lately."
I met his gaze. "Maybe I'm just tired of being watched."
His smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Just making sure you're safe," he said.
"I decide that," I answered, stepping past him.
My heart raced, but not with fear—with clarity.
Across the room, Kaelor saw the exchange.
His jaw tightened, but he didn't intervene.
He trusted me to stand on my own.
That mattered more than I expected.
By the time school ended, clouds had finally broken open. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking the campus within seconds.
Groans echoed as students scrambled for cover.
I didn't because I have accepted my fate and destiny.
I stepped into the rain, letting it hit my face, my hair, my shoulders. Cold. Real.
Cleansing.
Footsteps joined mine.
Kaelor walked beside me, no umbrella, no rush.
"You'll get sick," I said.
"Worth it," he replied.
We walked like that for a while, rain blurring the world into something softer, quieter.
And for once, the static inside me faded.
That night, lying in bed, I replayed the day.
The noise.
The silence.
The way Kaelor looked at me like I mattered without needing anything in return.
Festival week wasn't just testing our patience.
It was revealing things.
About him.
About me.
About everything we were circling but hadn't touched yet.
And deep down, I knew—
Once the stage lights turned on, nothing would stay hidden for long.