The courtyard was buzzing like usual—shouting, laughing, the occasional thud of a football bouncing off someone’s head. School wasn’t chaos, exactly, but it definitely flirted with it.

Miles sat cross-legged on the edge of a low brick planter, phone in hand, eyes glued to his screen. His thumbs flew, dodging enemy attacks with a precision born from hundreds of hours of gaming and near-zero hours of homework.

A new high score was within reach. The dragon’s health bar was down to slivers. For once, everything was going right.

A sharp shout split the air.

Across the yard, two boys were circling a smaller kid near the bins by the fencing. One shoved him hard, nearly knocking him to the ground. The other pulled at the kid’s bag, laughing.

Miles heard it. Registered it.

Didn’t move.

He flicked his gaze up for a second, just long enough to see Toby standing nearby, frowning.

"That’s—seriously? Again?" Toby muttered. He started moving toward the school doors. “I’ll go get someone.”

“Yeah,” Miles said distantly, eyes back on the screen. “You do that.”

The boss monster lunged. Miles countered with a charged strike—his fingers moved on instinct now, all rhythm and reaction.

But then—

Something shifted.

Out of the crowd walked a girl.

Not just a girl.

Her.

She strolled calmly past the edge of the courtyard, shoulder-length blonde curls bouncing slightly as she walked. She wore a light pink hoodie, oversized, with sleeves that covered her hands. Her head was down, but her steps were slow, careful, as if she didn’t quite belong to the pace of the world around her.

And for the first time in… well, ever… Miles looked away from his phone without realizing it.

There was nothing particularly loud or flashy about her. No dramatic music. No sparkling animation. She just was—soft, strange, and out of place in the best possible way.

He blinked.

The monster on-screen killed his character.

GAME OVER.

“What the—” he looked down at his phone, confused, and then back up—

She was gone.

The pink hoodie, the curls, the quiet magic of her—gone like a skipped frame.

Toby came jogging back with a teacher in tow. “They’re over there,” he pointed. The teacher hurried off toward the fight, barking orders before Miles could even finish standing.

The bullies scattered. The small kid looked shaken but was upright now, brushing off his sleeves as the teacher hovered nearby.

“Was it bad?” Miles asked, still scanning the crowd.

“Yeah,” Toby said, catching his breath. “That one kid got a proper smack to the nose. Probably broken.”

Miles nodded absently. “Huh…”

“You okay?” Toby asked. “You look weird. Like… weirder than usual.”

“I just…” Miles furrowed his brows. “Did you see her? Girl with blonde curls? Pink hoodie?”

Toby blinked. “What girl?”

“She walked right past here. Just before the teacher came.”

Toby looked around. Students were filing off to class. No sign of pink, or curls, or magic.

“Dude, you sure you didn’t just see it in your game again?”

Miles frowned, slowly shaking his head.

“No. She was real.”

But no one else seemed to have seen her.

And the bell rang.

Science class was the kind of slow crawl that could calcify your brain. The fluorescent lights hummed faintly above, the smell of alcohol wipes and crushed worksheets clinging to every surface. A diagram of a cell division cycle was half-erased on the whiteboard, waiting for someone—anyone—to care.

Miles, as usual, didn’t.

He sat slumped in his chair near the back, phone hidden under the desk at just the right angle to avoid detection. His character was deep in another dungeon, slashing through pixelated slime monsters, each hit releasing a satisfying squelch and a shower of coins.

Toby leaned over slightly. “Are you seriously still playing that? You’ve been dead like three times in the past ten minutes.”

“I’ve been distracted,” Miles muttered, tapping furiously.

Toby raised an eyebrow. “By what?”

Miles didn’t answer. His eyes flicked to the window beyond the classroom.

Out across the field, where the trees lined the edge of the sports pitches, a figure stood alone in the grass.

The girl.

Blonde curls, pink hoodie, sleeves draped past her hands. She turned in a slow circle like she was looking for something—or someone. Her expression was unreadable from this far, but something about it pulled at him again, like a hook in his chest.

He sat up straighter. “There she is again—look!”

Toby twisted to follow his gaze.

“She’s right—”

But the field was empty.

Just sky, trees, and sunlight on the grass.

“…She was right there,” Miles whispered.

Toby side-eyed him. “Dude. Seriously. Did you eat something expired?”

“I'm not—" Miles started, but a voice cut him off.

“Pay attention, Miles,” Hazel whispered from behind him.

He jumped slightly and turned halfway in his chair. She was watching him with narrowed green eyes, her brown hair pinned back neatly, a pen already poised above her notes.

“You’re acting weird,” she said. “Even for you.”

Before he could reply, movement flickered again—this time right at the edge of his vision.

The door.

There was a narrow, rectangular window in the classroom door, and for a fraction of a second, someone passed it. The pink hoodie. Blonde curls. Head bowed.

How the hell—?

The hallway was on the opposite side of the school from the field.

It didn’t make sense.

Hazel nudged him. “Can I borrow a pen?”

Miles, still staring at the door, fumbled blindly in his pencil case and handed something over.

Hazel blinked. “This is a pencil.”

“Oh. Right.”

Before she could say more—

“Miles Traverse,” the teacher snapped. Mr. Lewin’s tone was sharp enough to slice paper. “Since you seem so engaged in your own little world, perhaps you can answer the question.”

Miles blinked. “Uh…”

“What are the three types of heat transfer?” Mr. Lewin asked, already smirking like he knew Miles didn’t have a clue.

Miles glanced at the board. It was a wall of diagrams and terms that looked more like a different language.

“…Fire?” he tried weakly.

The class snickered.

Mr. Lewin sighed. “Hallway. Now.”

Miles grabbed his bag with a groan and shuffled toward the door, still wondering if he was going completely mad.

As the door closed behind him with a mechanical click, he looked both ways.

No pink hoodie.

No girl.

But somehow… the hallway didn’t feel empty.