The week the art club held its open exhibit, Mira stayed late after school every day.
Not because she cared about the event. Not really. But because it gave her something to do, a reason to be somewhere else. Somewhere her name wasn't always followed by "Why can't you be more like your sister?"
That Thursday, the hallway smelled like turpentine and fresh paint. Students wandered through the exhibit, murmuring to each other, pointing at abstract canvases and unfinished sketches.
Mira stood by her piece—a rough, chaotic swirl of reds and blacks she'd named "Noise."
It didn't mean anything.
Or maybe it meant everything.
She leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes scanning the crowd half-heartedly. And that's when she noticed him.
He wasn't talking. Just looking.
Tall. Tidy. A grey hoodie and dark jeans. His eyes lingered on the paintings—not in the bored, polite way most people did—but like he heard something no one else could.
When he reached Mira's painting, he paused.
"Hm," he murmured.
She raised an eyebrow. "That a good 'hm' or a 'this-looks-like-someone-tripped-over-a-paint-can' kind of 'hm'?"
He glanced at her, and then smiled—half-tilted, warm. "More like... this feels real. Angry. Honest."
Mira blinked. "You get all that from some messy brush strokes?"
He shrugged. "I don't think art is about what it shows. I think it's about what it lets out."
She didn't know how to reply to that. No one ever talked to her like that. Like her chaos made sense.
"I'm Jay," he said, offering a hand.
"Mira."
"Cool name."
"You too," she replied, surprised by her own softness.
He smiled again. That same strange, understanding smile.
And then someone called his name from the hall, and he turned.
"See you around," he said.
And just like that, he was gone.
That night, Mira lay awake, staring at the ceiling. She didn't even realize she was smiling.
Maya, from the top bunk, peeked down.
"You're quiet," she said.
Mira blinked. "So?"
"So it's suspicious."
Mira rolled her eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired."
"Or maybe…" Maya leaned further down. "Someone caught your eye."
"What? No. Ew."
"You're literally grinning."
"I'm thinking about… art. Yeah. Art."
Maya laughed softly. "Okay. If you say so."
The next day, Maya saw him too.
She was carrying books across the school courtyard when someone bumped into her.
"Oh! I'm so sorry—" she said, trying not to drop anything.
"Whoa, careful," a calm voice replied, reaching down to help her.
Jay.
She looked up and met his eyes—steady, kind.
"Thanks," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear.
"No problem. You okay?"
"Yeah. Just heavy books and a clumsy day."
He smiled that same, tilted smile Mira had seen. "I've had a few of those."
"Are you new here?" she asked.
"Kind of. Switched in two weeks ago. Still trying to figure this place out."
"Well, welcome," Maya said. "If you need help, I pretty much know everyone."
"I believe it," he said, his gaze holding hers for just a second too long.
Then someone called his name again—same guy from yesterday—and he gave a little wave and walked off.
Maya watched him go, blinking away something she didn't recognize.
That evening, Mira brought him up again, casually.
"So… there's this guy."
Maya smirked. "The guy?"
"Shut up. It's not like that. He just… noticed my painting. Said something interesting."
Maya leaned on the desk. "What did he say?"
"That it was angry. And honest."
Maya nodded. "Sounds like he paid attention."
"Yeah."
Maya hesitated. "I bumped into someone today. Jay, I think? Tall, calm voice?"
Mira froze.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "That's him."
Maya smiled. "He seems nice."
And Mira suddenly didn't like the way her sister said that.
The days that followed passed quietly, but something had changed. Not openly. Not sharply. Just… underneath.
Mira found herself watching Maya from across the classrooms when Jay passed by. Noticing the way his eyes sometimes drifted her way. Noticing how Maya smiled—so effortless, so likable.
Jay never said anything more than polite greetings. But Mira couldn't help the slow ache blooming in her chest.
She told herself it didn't mean anything.
It couldn't.
But at night, she stopped telling Maya about him.
And that was the first time she kept something truly important from her sister.
One evening, as they sat beneath the mango tree, Mira stared at the dirt between her shoes.
"Do you ever feel like… like something's changing, and you can't stop it?"
Maya tilted her head. "Yeah. I do."
"Like everything's fine, but also... not."
Maya was quiet for a long time.
"Things do change, Mira. We're growing. But we don't have to lose each other."
Mira nodded, but didn't meet her eyes.
Because something deep inside her already knew—
They were starting to.