Loose Threads

The first time Mirei saw Gale after everything fell apart, it felt like stepping barefoot on broken glass: familiar, sharp, impossible to avoid.

It was years after the world shrank, after the hallways emptied, and the only connection they had left was the static buzz of the internet and half-remembered cartoons. By the time school reopened, something between them had stretched too thin, pulled past the point where it could ever snap back into place.

He stood at the far end of the hall, laughing at something Caelis said, his smile a perfect echo of all the versions of him she used to know. The one who called her Dora. The one who messed with her for his own entertainment. The one who thought she didn't want to shake his hand because he's a boy. The one who wore her ridiculous yarn necklace like it was something valuable.

She almost called out to him. Almost. But her voice caught, stuck somewhere between her ribs, tangled up with all the words she never said, all the words she was too scared to say. Would he have wanted her there beside him again? Or had he already moved on, leaving her behind without even noticing?

Aren brushed past her shoulder, her usual sharp focus softened by the morning haze. She noticed. Aren always noticed.

“You okay?” Aren’s voice was low, private, meant only for Mirei.

“Yeah.” The lie slipped out smoothly, polished by years of practice until it sounded almost real. That was how it always was, a perfect lie without meaning to be one.

They walked to class together, side by side but never quite touching. Mirei’s sleeve hung low, hiding the faint crescent marks her nails left on her skin whenever she held herself too tightly. Some habits didn’t break, they just went quiet.

Gale was already at his desk, leaning back in his chair, a pencil spinning between his fingers. For just a moment, a single, breathless second, his gaze flickered toward her, and Mirei was ten years old again, holding out broken eraser pieces like they were treasure.

But his eyes slid past her, not pausing long enough to catch. Just another classmate. Just another face.

He didn’t recognize her anymore, did he? Not in the way people do when they grow up and forget who they used to be.

Aren took her seat without a word, her hands folded neatly on her desk, her mask perfectly intact. She was good at that, keeping herself in check, never letting anyone see the fractures spiderwebbing beneath her calm surface.

Caelis slouched into the seat behind them, late as always, his hair a storm of half-dried chaos. “Morning,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Mirei didn’t answer. Her fingers curled into her sleeve, her palm pressing against the ghost of a seam long gone.

The past was a weight she carried everywhere in her hands, in her silence, in the space between her and the boy who once knew her best. But threads fray. People change. And sometimes, the only thing left to do was let go before the emds get caught and unraveled everything.

Aren caught her eye, just for a moment. It wasn’t a question, just quiet understanding. They were both girls who knew how to stitch themselves together when no one else would. Quite literally on Mirei's part.

The bell rang. The day began. And for the thousandth time, Mirei pretended she was fine.