Juliet didn't notice the pattern all at once.
It revealed itself slowly, like something you only see when you stop trying not to.
At first, it was small things. Amira always managed to sit next to Rosaline, even when Juliet arrived first. If Juliet shifted closer, Amira shifted too—never rudely, never obviously. Just enough to keep the space hers.
Juliet told herself it didn't matter.
In class, Amira passed notes to Rosaline, smiling when Rosaline laughed. Juliet leaned over once to see what was written, but Amira casually folded the paper and slipped it into her bag, continuing the conversation like nothing had happened.
Juliet's stomach tightened. Then she relaxed it. You're overthinking, she told herself. Not everything is about you.
But it kept happening.
Amira complimented Rosaline constantly. Her clothes. Her handwriting. Her answers in class. Juliet waited for her name to come up too—not because she needed praise, but because the absence felt deliberate.
"You're really smart," Amira said to Rosaline one day after math. "Like, naturally smart."
Rosaline smiled. "Juliet helps me study."
Amira nodded politely, but her eyes had already moved on.
At lunch, Amira would start conversations Juliet couldn't join easily. People she didn't know. Stories she wasn't part of. When Juliet tried to add something, Amira would respond briefly, then turn back to Rosaline.
Not rude. Never rude.
Just redirecting.
Juliet began to feel like she was walking behind a glass wall—present but unheard. It reminded her of how she used to feel when people talked about school before she ever attended one. Like there was something everyone else understood that she didn't.
That scared her.
One afternoon, Rosaline went to the washroom during lunch. Juliet stayed at the table with Amira, the silence stretching thin between them.
"So," Amira said lightly, stirring her drink, "how are you liking semester two?"
"It's… good," Juliet replied. "Different."
Amira smiled. "Yeah. It feels like a fresh start."
Juliet nodded. "It does."
Amira tilted her head slightly. "You and Rosaline are really close, huh?"
Juliet hesitated. "Yeah. We've been friends since last semester."
Amira hummed. "I can tell."
There was something in her tone Juliet couldn't place—not jealousy, not judgment. Something softer. Calculated.
When Rosaline returned, Amira's attention snapped back to her instantly, the moment forgotten like it never happened.
Later that day, Juliet walked home feeling unsettled. Nothing Amira had done was wrong. That was the problem. There was nothing to point to. Nothing concrete to explain the tight feeling in her chest.
But Juliet had learned to trust patterns.
The next morning, Juliet arrived early to English and sat beside Rosaline like usual. Amira entered a minute later, paused, then smiled.
"Oh," she said lightly. "You're sitting there today?"
Juliet stiffened. "Yeah."
Amira laughed softly. "No worries. I'll just sit behind you."
She did—but the entire class, Juliet could feel her presence. Leaning forward. Whispering to Rosaline. Passing notes over Juliet's desk.
The teacher cleared their throat once. Then again.
Juliet felt heat creep up her neck—not because she was doing anything wrong, but because she was in the middle of it.
After class, Rosaline lingered. "That was… a lot," she said quietly.
Juliet exhaled. "Yeah."
Rosaline glanced around, then lowered her voice. "Have you noticed… stuff?"
Juliet looked at her carefully. "What kind of stuff?"
Rosaline hesitated. "Like… Amira kind of… separating us?"
The words landed heavier than Juliet expected.
"Yes," Juliet said immediately. Then paused. "I mean—yeah. I think so."
Rosaline frowned. "I didn't want to assume. I didn't want to be unfair."
Juliet nodded. "Me neither."
They stood there, the hallway buzzing around them, both realizing the same thing at the same time: this wasn't imagination. This wasn't insecurity. This was something quiet and intentional.
"I don't think she's trying to hurt me," Rosaline said slowly. "I think she's trying to choose."
Juliet swallowed. "And she's choosing you."
Rosaline shook her head. "No. She's trying to."
That mattered more than Juliet wanted to admit.
At home that night, Juliet sat on her bed, phone face-down beside her. She thought about Sarah. About how obvious that danger had been. How easy it was to draw a line when someone crossed it loudly.
This was different.
Amira smiled. Included. Never raised her voice. Never broke rules. And yet, Juliet felt herself shrinking around her—editing her words, stepping back, waiting for permission she never used to need.
This is what it looks like, Juliet realized. Not pressure. Replacement.
The thought made her chest ache.
Juliet prayed quietly—not for answers, but for courage. For clarity. For the ability to speak before silence became agreement again.
Tomorrow, she would talk to Rosaline properly. Not vaguely. Not carefully. Honestly.
She wasn't going to wait this time.
Because she had already learned what waiting cost.
And she wasn't willing to pay it again.
Chapter 9: Patterns
Juliet didn't notice the pattern all at once.
It revealed itself slowly, like something you only see when you stop trying not to.
At first, it was small things. Amira always managed to sit next to Rosaline, even when Juliet arrived first. If Juliet shifted closer, Amira shifted too—never rudely, never obviously. Just enough to keep the space hers.
Juliet told herself it didn't matter.
In class, Amira passed notes to Rosaline, smiling when Rosaline laughed. Juliet leaned over once to see what was written, but Amira casually folded the paper and slipped it into her bag, continuing the conversation like nothing had happened.
Juliet's stomach tightened. Then she relaxed it. You're overthinking, she told herself. Not everything is about you.
But it kept happening.
Amira complimented Rosaline constantly. Her clothes. Her handwriting. Her answers in class. Juliet waited for her name to come up too—not because she needed praise, but because the absence felt deliberate.
"You're really smart," Amira said to Rosaline one day after math. "Like, naturally smart."
Rosaline smiled. "Juliet helps me study."
Amira nodded politely, but her eyes had already moved on.
At lunch, Amira would start conversations Juliet couldn't join easily. People she didn't know. Stories she wasn't part of. When Juliet tried to add something, Amira would respond briefly, then turn back to Rosaline.
Not rude. Never rude.
Just redirecting.
Juliet began to feel like she was walking behind a glass wall—present but unheard. It reminded her of how she used to feel when people talked about school before she ever attended one. Like there was something everyone else understood that she didn't.
That scared her.
One afternoon, Rosaline went to the washroom during lunch. Juliet stayed at the table with Amira, the silence stretching thin between them.
"So," Amira said lightly, stirring her drink, "how are you liking semester two?"
"It's… good," Juliet replied. "Different."
Amira smiled. "Yeah. It feels like a fresh start."
Juliet nodded. "It does."
Amira tilted her head slightly. "You and Rosaline are really close, huh?"
Juliet hesitated. "Yeah. We've been friends since last semester."
Amira hummed. "I can tell."
There was something in her tone Juliet couldn't place—not jealousy, not judgment. Something softer. Calculated.
When Rosaline returned, Amira's attention snapped back to her instantly, the moment forgotten like it never happened.
Later that day, Juliet walked home feeling unsettled. Nothing Amira had done was wrong. That was the problem. There was nothing to point to. Nothing concrete to explain the tight feeling in her chest.
But Juliet had learned to trust patterns.
The next morning, Juliet arrived early to English and sat beside Rosaline like usual. Amira entered a minute later, paused, then smiled.
"Oh," she said lightly. "You're sitting there today?"
Juliet stiffened. "Yeah."
Amira laughed softly. "No worries. I'll just sit behind you."
She did—but the entire class, Juliet could feel her presence. Leaning forward. Whispering to Rosaline. Passing notes over Juliet's desk.
The teacher cleared their throat once. Then again.
Juliet felt heat creep up her neck—not because she was doing anything wrong, but because she was in the middle of it.
After class, Rosaline lingered. "That was… a lot," she said quietly.
Juliet exhaled. "Yeah."
Rosaline glanced around, then lowered her voice. "Have you noticed… stuff?"
Juliet looked at her carefully. "What kind of stuff?"
Rosaline hesitated. "Like… Amira kind of… separating us?"
The words landed heavier than Juliet expected.
"Yes," Juliet said immediately. Then paused. "I mean—yeah. I think so."
Rosaline frowned. "I didn't want to assume. I didn't want to be unfair."
Juliet nodded. "Me neither."
They stood there, the hallway buzzing around them, both realizing the same thing at the same time: this wasn't imagination. This wasn't insecurity. This was something quiet and intentional.
"I don't think she's trying to hurt me," Rosaline said slowly. "I think she's trying to choose."
Juliet swallowed. "And she's choosing you."
Rosaline shook her head. "No. She's trying to."
That mattered more than Juliet wanted to admit.
At home that night, Juliet sat on her bed, phone face-down beside her. She thought about Sarah. About how obvious that danger had been. How easy it was to draw a line when someone crossed it loudly.
This was different.
Amira smiled. Included. Never raised her voice. Never broke rules. And yet, Juliet felt herself shrinking around her—editing her words, stepping back, waiting for permission she never used to need.
This is what it looks like, Juliet realized. Not pressure. Replacement.
The thought made her chest ache.
Juliet prayed quietly—not for answers, but for courage. For clarity. For the ability to speak before silence became agreement again.
Tomorrow, she would talk to Rosaline properly. Not vaguely. Not carefully. Honestly.
She wasn't going to wait this time.
Because she had already learned what waiting cost.
And she wasn't willing to pay it again.