Alam arrived at his dorm for the first time. The room smelled faintly of detergent and old wood, dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight from the window. An Academy robe and a week's worth of Academy uniforms hung neatly in the closet: black jackets with orange trim, orange ties, and polished wing‑tipped shoes. A special pair had been made for his club foot.
The twin‑sized bed creaked softly when he pressed a hand against the mattress. A study desk sat beneath the window, his suitcase waiting on top. He opened it to find a sealed envelope stamped with his family crest. Inside was a short letter from his stepmother:
I'm sure you know by now, I never wanted kids. I've always loathed your father for bringing a child into my life. Since he's dead, and the mansion's finally sold, I never have to see or hear from you again. Your father should have raised pigs instead, at least then I'd have bacon.
Regretfully yours,
Your hateful stepmother, Eve.
Alam sighed and re-folded the letter from his stepmother, tucked it back in the envelope, then put it in the drawer of his study desk. He reached for the letter from his father when a knock startled him. He hobbled to the door and opened it.
To his surprise, it was Cindy.
"Hey, loser," she said with a bright smile.
"I, um…" Alam looked away, insecure.
"Relax," Cindy reassured him. "I was only teasing."
"Ok," Alam muttered.
"Don't be so gloomy," Cindy said. "We all get a fresh start here. You can be whoever you want, and the past doesn't need to weigh you down."
She glanced at his closet. "Change into your uniform and meet me in the hall. I've been appointed your campus tour guide!" Her grin widened. "Now hurry up, we're wasting daylight."
Alam stared at her, entranced. "Flowers do shine brighter in the sun," he whispered. Her skin glowed in the light.
Cindy blushed. "Thank you for the compliment." She slipped into the hallway.
Alam dressed quickly and rushed out, but the corridor was empty. He paused, hearing whispers from down the hall. As he leaned closer, a hand landed on his shoulder.
"Hey, Alam," Ewan said.
Alam clutched his chest. "You scared me!"
"My bad, bruv. These halls got mad ops listening in," Ewan muttered, eyes darting nervously.
"What do you want?" Alam asked, irritation sharp in his voice.
"Just wanted to slide you this, fam," Ewan said, handing him a folded paper.
Alam crumpled it without looking. "You betrayed me once. Just go away," Alam said, turning his back on Ewan.
When he peeked behind him, Ewan was gone. Cindy reappeared, cheerful. "Ready for your tour, handsome?"
"Yeah," Alam said, hobbling toward her. "Where were you?"
"I had to tinkle," she said playfully.
They stepped into the campus yard. The fountain's spray misted the air, cool droplets catching the sunlight in fractured rainbows across cracked stone.
"To the left is the girls' dorm," Cindy said, motioning. "Past that is the Olympic‑sized pool."
"Olympic‑sized? Wow," Alam said.
"To the right is the gym. Watch out for Coach Carter — he runs us ragged."
"Noted," Alam replied.
"In front is the Administrative building. Behind that, the greenhouse and biology wing."
"What's that big building in the center?" Alam asked.
"The auditorium and dining hall are in that building," Cindy answered.
"Is there a library?"
"Kind of," she said. "It's mostly computers now. The books were moved to the basement."
"Really, Why?" Alam asked.
"Look around," Cindy said.
Alam looked around. Students lounged with phones, laptops, tablets.
"When's the last time you saw anyone read a book?" Cindy asked.
"I read them all the time," Alam said gleefully.
"Well, Miss Barb, the librarian might let you borrow some from the basement."
Alam's gaze locked on the fountain statue: a warrior holding a blazing sun. Ancient whispers curled through the air, chanting in a language he didn't know. His chest tightened until Cindy's voice snapped him back.
"That's the Pharaoh, Amun Sunborn. Legends say he bent the sun to his will."
Alam noticed the buildings were cracked, paint peeling, fixtures rusting.
"Why's the campus so rundown?" he asked.
"The owner died years ago. She didn't leave a will. The estate's been in limbo ever since," Cindy explained. "Enrollment's down. Parents are pulling their kids out."
"That's terrible," Alam said.
Cindy noticed Alam clutching his knee. "Let's sit."
"No, it's fine," he protested.
"Come on," she smiled, pulling him toward the fountain.
On the way, they passed a boy bowing to Cindy. "My queen," he said with a salute.
"What's that about?" Alam asked.
"I honestly have no clue," Cindy shrugged. "I've noticed the richer they are, the quirkier they get."
Another boy shouted into his phone: "Yo, yo, yo! This is Saucey Mac, your number one influencer on the West Coast, coming to you live from Sunborn Academy! Let's drop some sauce on it!"
"You see what I mean?" Cindy laughed.
"Isn't that normal these days?" Alam asked.
"I guess. But I prefer quiet time by the water."
They passed a robust couple arguing over cake, a raven‑haired maid sweeping leaves, and Fitz with his cronies bullying a kid. Cindy scowled. "Ugh, I wish those idiots would grow up."
Finally, they sat by the fountain. Alam's leg throbbed. Cindy hesitated. "I've been working on something. I need a good listener."
"Sure, what is it?!" Alam said eagerly.
"A poem," she muttered, biting her lip.
"A poem?"
"Never mind, bad idea."
"No, I'd love to hear it!" Alam exclaimed.
Cindy pulled out her phone. "This is called When We First Met:"
When we first met, I was a mess.
There was a pit in my chest.
I couldn't sleep, I couldn't rest.
In my dreams, you were the best.
You were better than the rest.
I gave you answers to the test.
Now you're here, I feel blessed.
I hope you stay for the rest.
She tucked her phone away, taking a deep breath. She looked to Alam, searching his eyes.
"That was— amazing!" Alam said.
"Thank you, thank you," Cindy bowed to an imaginary crowd.
"I wasn't expecting someone like you here," Alam said softly.
"What do you mean?"
"Apsara," Alam whispered.
"Ass‑what now?" Cindy blinked.
"The closest translation is… Angel."
Cindy blushed, smiling wide.
"I should take you back," she said. "I have Club activities soon."
At his door, Alam asked shyly, "Who'd you write the poem for?"
"You never know," Cindy teased, kissing his cheek.
Her phone chimed. She grinned at the screen. "Bye, handsome!" She darted down the hall.
Alam closed the door, smiling, and collapsed onto his bed. Something crinkled beneath him. He pulled out a folded paper stamped with a golden Serval emblem:
Trust is currency that few can afford to waste, and even fewer can repay.
"That's it?" Alam muttered, flipping it over. But it was blank.
A knock jolted him. He rushed to the door. "Cindy, you wouldn't believe the weird letter I just—"
The door slammed open. Fitz bulldozed inside, lifting Alam by the collar. His legs dangled.
"What'd you tell the Dean, Clubbie?!" Fitz snarled.
"Nothing, I swear!" Alam pleaded.
"You swear?" Fitz shook him.
"Yeah, yeah!"
"Good. I'm proud of you, Clubbie." Fitz lowered him back to the ground. Alam exhaled in relief.
"As a matter of fact, I'm so proud, I'm gonna give you something special." Fitz's grin twisted.
"What?" Alam asked uneasily.
"Consider this a love letter, from me to you."
His fist barreled into Alam's stomach, driving the air from his lungs. His vision blurred, ears ringing, and a sharp metallic tang filled his mouth as he crumpled to the floor.
"Remember, you'll always have a special place in my heart, Clubbie," Fitz sneered, slamming the door behind him.