Prologue

   It was one of those early spring days when everything felt a bit easier. The sun was gently warming the sidewalks, buds were timidly emerging, and the city was coming back to life after weeks of gray. The parks were filling up, laughter echoed, and terraces overflowed.

   Amidst this joyful chaos, a girl was running. She weaved between pedestrians with an agility that hinted at habit, urgency, or perhaps both.

   Naomi, 17, high school senior, running late. Again.
   "Disaster…" I gasped between breaths. "I'm really going to be late."

   Mr. Kegel’s class was set to begin in five minutes. Five. I could still make it if nothing held me up, but the streets were packed. In this early afternoon, people strolled, chatted, and daydreamed—hardly the right moment to dart between people's legs.

   The pedestrian signal turned red as I reached the crosswalk, but I didn’t hesitate for a second. I wasn’t fond of taking such risks, but this was an emergency. I sped up, aiming for the opposite sidewalk… and collided with a wall.

   Or rather, with a boy. He was standing, right in the middle of the crosswalk, eyes lifted toward the sky as if waiting for a sign from fate. We both tumbled forward on the sidewalk with a dull thud as cars began to move behind us.

   I sprang to my feet, furious.
   "Who stops like that?!" I shouted, breathless.

   I was about to keep scolding him, but then I caught sight of his expression. He stared at me, mouth slightly open and eyes wide, as though he’d just seen a ghost. Maybe he’s fallen in love—literally and figuratively. Could it be the classic romantic cliché: “Love at first sight”? Joking aside he looked completely dazed, so I offered my hand to help him up.
   "Sorry. Well… kind of," I admitted. After all, if I hadn’t been late, none of this would’ve happened—it was partly my fault.

   But he didn’t move a muscle. He just stared, lost in thought.
   I shrugged, unwilling to linger any longer, and resumed my frantic run.

   A few minutes later, I finally reached my destination. It was an old middle school, just a stone’s throw away from our actual high school. We were temporarily using it while our classroom was being renovated. The structure featured a traditional style, with a broad roof clad in terracotta tiles and punctuated by three dormers. The main façade was marked by several large windows and a series of stone arches forming a covered passage. In the courtyard, the beaten earth, the soft rustling of young trees, and the soothing murmur of a circular fountain created a symphony of calm—in striking contrast to the frenzy of my arrival. I paused at the entrance, leaning against the imposing wrought-iron gate to catch my breath.

I   n all honesty, the place possesses a certain charm. The ancient stone building and the quiet, rustic courtyard transport me straight back to the Middle Ages. It reminds me of that novel by—

   “What on earth am I doing?” I exclaimed, exasperated by my own absent-mindedness. I haven't even arrived yet!

***

   I barely managed to slip inside as Mr. Kegel was closing the classroom door.

   Phew, saved! He allowed students in until the door shut. In reality, he’d already accepted me afterward, but I didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness.

   Unfortunately, I’d misjudged my speed and tripped over a schoolbag, falling flat onto the floor.

   The silence that followed was almost comical. No one seemed to react. Even my fall had been discreet.

   “Are you really in such a hurry to attend my classes, Miss Walker?” said Mr.Kegel with an amused smile.

   Red with embarrassment, I struggled to get up and murmured, ashamed:

   “Sorry for being late…”

   “It’s nothing, go sit down,” he replied gently.

   Despite being in his sixties, Mr. Kegel’s enthusiasm for educating children of all ages kept him from ever retiring. Sadly, fatherhood remained out of reach for him.

   His warm face and short, salt-and-pepper hair gave him a distinguished, experienced look. Mr. Kegel was dressed in a red wool sweater artfully draped over a white shirt and accented with a red tie that emphasized his traditional style. His long, loose dark-gray trousers paired perfectly with his formal, slightly weathered black shoes.

   He taught mathematics and science, which were Naomi's specialities, so she spent three hours with him every weekday. It was already their third year together, and he had always been patient and understanding. Over time, Naomi grew very attached to him, viewing him—as many other students did—as a caring grandfather who was always ready to provide reassurance and encouragement.

***

   I slipped quietly to the back of the classroom, where my desk sat in the last row, next to the large windows that overlooked the courtyard. I set my bag down, unpacked my things, and sighed. Two mishaps in just five minutes. A new personal record. What else could go wrong today?

   A smile spread across my face as I clenched my fist in determination. Let’s put things in perspective, it’s a beautiful day, I’m safe and sound, in two months I’ll be eighteen, and—and I think I forgot to close the front door of the house…

***

   The high-pitched bell echoed through the building. Five o'clock already? That’s Mr Kegel for you! He always managed to make his lessons fascinating, no matter how complex the subject. He would explain it clearly and concretely, sometimes adding anecdotes and even jokes.

   Mr Kegel finished writing his sentence, dropped off his piece of chalk, and calmly said:

   “That’s all for today, have a good evening; and don’t forget to study for tomorrow’s test”.

   While I was putting my pens back inside my pencil case, I dropped my eraser. The student sitting before me noticed it and bent down to pick it up.

   “Here—ow!” He’d just banged his head against my table as he was getting up.

   “Thank you Elliot, it seems I’m not the only clumsy person in this class.”

   Elliot chuckled while rubbing his chestnut hair, messy as usual. His wide amber eyes, soft and expressive, were brought out thanks to the fairness of his skin. Truth be told, it was so fair that saying he was pale wasn’t an overstatement. Despite being seventeen, his constitution was still very frail and his face rather childish. He was the smallest of our classmates. His white short-sleeved shirt was neatly tucked into navy blue trousers that were ending on the top of simple black shoes. His vulnerable appearance never changed since his arrival, seven months ago.

   Here, in Sweden, the academic year started in August, yet it wasn’t until December that Naomi’s class welcomed a new student—Elliot Sawyer. He awkwardly introduced himself, stuttering at every word, clutching his schoolbag in front of him, not daring to look up.

   It had been three months, and yet, you could hardly say he was fitting in. After all, the students had known each other for several months, even years for some of them. The groups were already formed, that was the root of this complication, you might say. Certainly, that was something to consider, but in reality, the main culprit was none other than Elliot. He spoke little and would slip out as soon as the bell rang. The only exception was Naomi, not only did he talk to her, but, occasionally, you could even see him let out a timid smile. Today he actually chuckled—a remarkable deviation from his usual reserved demeanor.

   After all, she lent Elliot her textbooks several times—and vice versa. Just like him, Naomi tended to be clumsy, absent-minded and alone. Those resemblances comforted Elliot, helping him fight his loneliness and chronic feelings of inferiority. Being surrounded by others was exhausting, every movement or word was made to not upset anybody. He was afraid–the simple thought of getting rejected, disliked or humiliated made him cower in fear. He hated questions, they were tricky. A bad answer and he would be labeled as boring or awkward. Not that he considered himself unfit of this description, but he refused to show any weakness that could be used against him.

   Around her, he could breathe again, Naomi helped him and never asked anything. She lived her life her own way—and it was precisely for that reason that, little by little, he opened up to her. Even though, from a social point of view, he still had a long way to go.

***

   We’d just walked through the gate when Elliot’s cheeks turned red as he murmured, “See you tomorrow!” before running away.

   “See you,” I replied.

   I watched as he faded away before turning and heading the opposite way.

   Lucky you—so eager to get home. I’m sure your family is waiting.

   The trip back was a far cry from the turbulent outward journey. I was dragging my feet, head down, feeling lost and utterly alone. Although the sun was still shining lightly, the sky was gradually turning overcast, and the streets became progressively darker.

   I arrived at the crosswalk where I’d bumped into this man—or was it a boy? I couldn’t remember his face. What was he looking at anyway? I thought, as I glanced at the sky.

   The pedestrian light turned green, and I resumed my walk, my mind still puzzling over what had caught his attention. As I was reaching the end of the crosswalk, a movement in my peripheral vision made me turn. A white van, barreling straight toward me—I was hit head-on.