The next morning, Mira woke to the sound of soft rain pattering against her window. She lay in bed for a moment, watching the droplets race each other down the glass. The reflection circle lingered in her mind—the warmth of the candlelight, the steady voices, and, most vividly, the way her own words had felt lighter once spoken.

Still, vulnerability wasn’t easy. She didn’t regret sharing, but a part of her wished she could forget how exposed she’d felt.

Sliding out of bed, she stretched and glanced at her notebook on the desk. Normally, she’d spend the morning journaling, letting her thoughts spill onto the page. But today, the quiet of the room felt heavier, like it was waiting for her to do something different.

Instead of writing, she decided to explore.

Mira grabbed her jacket and headed toward the library, the rain softening into mist. The path through the courtyard was slick with water, the air cool and refreshing. She loved the smell of rain—it reminded her of home, though she rarely allowed herself to think about that place anymore.

When she arrived, the library was nearly empty. A few students sat scattered at tables, their heads bent over books. Mira wandered between the towering shelves, letting her fingers brush the spines of ancient tomes and newly bound novels. It felt like walking through a maze of stories, each one waiting for someone to unlock it.

She found a small alcove near a window and settled into a worn armchair. The rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm that lulled her into a calm she hadn’t expected. She reached for a random book from the nearest shelf and opened it, though she wasn’t really reading. Instead, her mind drifted to memories she’d tried to bury.

Her old school had been nothing like Ilona Academy. It had been loud, full of voices competing for attention. Everything was a race—grades, popularity, social media validation. There was always a new trend, a new crisis, a new reason to feel like she wasn’t enough.

She remembered the constant hum of notifications on her phone, each one a reminder of her supposed inadequacy. She’d learned to curate her online persona carefully, posting only the highlights, hiding the pain. But the more she tried to fit in, the more she felt like she was disappearing.

Ilona was different. Here, she wasn’t performing for an audience. No one seemed to care about her past or her polished social media presence. They cared about who she was, right now, in this moment.

Mira sighed and closed the book. She wasn’t ready to dive into those memories yet, but they hovered at the edges of her mind, waiting.

---

“Hey,” a voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see Kael standing nearby, holding a stack of books. He tilted his head, smiling softly. “Mind if I join you?”

Mira hesitated, then nodded. “Sure.”

He set the books down and took the seat across from her. “You looked deep in thought.”

“I guess I was,” she admitted. “Just… thinking about the past.”

Kael leaned back, his expression thoughtful. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Letting go of the things that used to define us.”

Mira met his gaze. “Yeah. I spent so much time trying to be someone I wasn’t. It’s strange to be in a place where I don’t have to do that anymore.”

Kael nodded. “It’s freeing, but it’s also terrifying. You’re not alone in that.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rain continuing its gentle cadence outside.

“Do you ever feel like you don’t know who you are anymore?” Mira asked quietly.

Kael’s eyes softened. “All the time. But I think that’s part of growing. We’re not supposed to have all the answers yet.”

Mira let his words settle over her. She didn’t know if she fully believed them, but they offered a kind of comfort she hadn’t realized she needed.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “For being here.”

Kael smiled. “Anytime.”

Later that afternoon, Mira found herself back in the garden, the rain having given way to a soft drizzle. She knelt beside the herb bed she’d helped plant, running her fingers over the damp leaves of basil and rosemary. The scents filled the air, earthy and calming.

She thought about the circle, about the stories shared, and how the quiet had felt less like emptiness and more like possibility.

For the first time in a long time, she felt the stirrings of hope.

To be continued...