Chapter 1 — “Blueprints”

Sunlight spilled through the café window like it had nowhere else to be.

Noa stirred his iced coffee slowly, letting the cube clink the glass, eyes drifting to the world outside. He had the kind of face people called kind before they knew him—soft features, thoughtful eyes, hair always a little unkempt like he was too busy thinking to style it. His hoodie was worn at the cuffs, and his backpack, patched with quotes from books, sagged with too many notebooks.

Across from him, Kael was already mid-rant, hands flying as fast as his words. Purple streaks danced in his shaggy hair as he leaned in and jabbed at the air. He wore fingerless gloves, three rings on each hand, and sunglasses despite the indoor lighting. Somehow, it worked.

“Okay, hear me out,” Kael said. “I’m not saying I’m definitely going to be famous. I’m just saying it’s kinda rude of the universe if I’m not.”

Next to him, Lira didn’t even glance up. Jet-black hair tucked behind one ear, she was hunched over her sketchbook, a faint smudge of charcoal on her cheek. Her hoodie sleeves were rolled halfway, revealing slender wrists and an ink-stained bracelet she never took off. She was the calm in their storm, the silence in their noise.

“You’ve said this every year since middle school,” she murmured.

Kael grinned. “And every year I get closer.”

Noa let out a quiet laugh. “He’s not wrong. I did see him in that one toothpaste ad.”

“Exactly!” Kael pointed dramatically. “My breakout role. Next stop? Space operas. Or prestige drama where I cry a single tear and win an award.”

“I’m still not casting you in my future hospital drama,” Lira said dryly. “I’m opening a free clinic. Not a soap opera.”

“You’re… what now?” Kael blinked.

Lira looked up at last, eyes sharp. “A real one. No bills. No rejections. If someone walks in bleeding, they walk out fixed. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

Noa leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “To hospitals without price tags.”

Lira offered the smallest smile—one only the two of them ever saw. “And to orphanages without locked gates.”

Kael tilted his head. “Wait—you’re still serious about that, Noa?”

Noa nodded, a bit slower this time. “Yeah. If I can get through business school… I’ll make it happen. One in every city I can afford. Not just beds and walls. Real homes. Real futures.”

The sunlight shifted. The café buzzed on, but something in their table stilled.

“You’ve got that future-saint energy,” Kael muttered, smirking to lighten the mood. “Makes the rest of us look bad.”

Noa smiled again, but softer. “I don’t know about that. I just… don’t want to waste this life. If I’m lucky enough to be born with something, I want it to matter.”

Evening — Home

The apartment smelled of baked bread and thyme. Warm jazz played low from a radio in the corner. His mother hummed along, drying dishes at the sink. His father was leafing through the newspaper, glasses perched at the tip of his nose.

“You sure you don’t want to go to the beach with them?” his mother asked without turning.

“I’m fine,” Noa said, stretching. “They’ll come back sunburnt and exhausted. I’ll still be hydrated and in one piece.”

“Classic indoor kid,” his dad chuckled.

“You work too hard,” his mom said as she passed, brushing his shoulder. “Always in your head.”

“And dream too big,” his father added, not looking up.

Noa shrugged. “Didn’t you always say to dream like you’ve already failed once?”

His parents exchanged a glance—proud, and quietly afraid of how fast he was growing.

“I guess we did,” his mom said softly.

Later — Balcony

Noa sat on the narrow balcony with his knees up, notebook resting on them. The city spread out below him in blinking neon veins, stretching past the horizon. He tapped his pen but didn’t write. The pages were full, but the future still felt bigger than what he could sketch.

A message from Kael popped up on his phone: 📸 [PHOTO] Kael mid-backflip on the sand. Blurry. Terrible form. Lira sitting near the fire, looking past the camera. Toward whoever took the photo. Toward him.

Noa smiled faintly.

He typed:

Next time, I’ll come too. Promise.

He didn’t send it.

He set the phone down. Picked up his pen. And finally wrote:

"Home isn’t where you live. It’s who waits for you."

Beach — Earlier

The fire crackled, casting golden light across their faces.

Kael lobbed a marshmallow into his mouth. “Alright, Lira. Gonna say it, or nah?”

Lira didn’t move. “Say what?”

“You know what.” He gestured lazily. “Noa.”

She kept staring into the flames. “He’s… different. Not just smart. Or kind. He sees things. Like he’s building something only he understands.”

Kael sat up. “And?”

“And I want to help him build it,” she whispered. “I think we’d make something good together. I think I could… love him well.”

Kael smirked, but said nothing. The fire popped again, and in that small silence, something fragile was sealed.

Back at Home — Moments Later

The kitchen lights were dim. The dishes were drying. Jazz had faded to soft static.

His father stood near the couch, remote in hand, watching the late news. Rain somewhere distant. Stocks. A flash of breaking headlines.

His mother walked in, drying her hands with a towel, a plate still in her grip.

She glanced at the TV—and froze.

A strange expression came over her. Not fear. Not shock.

Recognition.

The plate slipped from her fingers, shattering on the tiles.

Her husband turned sharply. “What is it?”

On the screen: static, then recovered. A breaking report. The words partially cut off.

“—disappearances spiking across the city. Local authorities say the phenomenon—”

She didn’t answer.

Her eyes were locked on the screen.

Outside, on the balcony, Noa turned his face to the stars—completely unaware.