Sam POV
The first thing I noticed that morning wasn't the buzzing chatter of the classroom or the shuffle of notebooks against wooden desks. It was her.
Rhaine De Fuentes tall, quiet, and forever hiding behind the frames of her glasses slipped into her seat without a word. She was surrounded by the normal hum of high school life, but she moved as if she were walking through a different world entirely. A world where no one could touch her.
Except, maybe, when she let them.
I leaned my elbow against my desk, pretending to flip through my notes, but really I was watching her. Not in the obvious way just in small glances, in stolen moments. It had become a habit of mine, one I told myself I'd break, but never did.
She was different today. Her smile with Maya and Eli seemed thinner, forced, like she was painting it on instead of feeling it. And yet, when Maya cracked a joke, her shoulders relaxed just a fraction, her lips quirking up into something real.
That's what always got me about her—how she was two people at once.
With her friends, she was warm. Animated. A little loud, even. But the moment anyone else tried to step closer, she shrank into herself, as if there were walls around her no one was allowed to climb.
And for some reason, those walls only seemed taller when it came to me.
"Alright, class," our teacher's voice cut through, pulling me from my thoughts. "We'll continue with group activities today. Pair yourselves—"
Groans rippled through the room. The word "pairs" always caused drama. Some students scrambled to sit next to their friends, others whined about not wanting to be left out.
I didn't scramble. I just glanced at her.
Rhaine sat stiffly in her chair, knuckles white against the edge of her desk. She hated this. I could tell by the way her lips pressed into a tight line, by the faint crease between her brows. She muttered something under her breath too quiet for most to hear. But I caught it.
"Why is it always pairing…"
The smallest laugh escaped me, though I hid it behind my hand. She had no idea how much she gave away in those muttered complaints.
"Sam, Rhaine—you two together again," the teacher called.
A ripple of teasing whispers ran through the class. I saw Rhaine's shoulders tense instantly. Her eyes flicked toward me, just for a second, before darting away.
There it was again that wall. But I stood, gathering my things, and crossed the room to sit beside her.
"Looks like it's you and me," I said softly.
She didn't answer at first, just stared at the page in front of her. Then, reluctantly, she gave a small nod.
I watched her fingers tremble as she adjusted her glasses. Most people wouldn't notice. But I did.
We worked quietly at first. I offered suggestions, she jotted them down, her handwriting neat and precise. Every so often, her gaze brushed mine, then darted away as if she'd touched something hot.
It was strange. Around Maya and Eli, she laughed easily, argued without hesitation. With me, though every word seemed measured, cautious, as if she were walking on thin ice.
Why?
I found myself staring at her profile, the way her long hair fell like a curtain, the faint determination in her jaw. She wasn't fragile not really. But there was something she was holding back.
Something she didn't want the world to see.
"Sam," she said suddenly, catching me off guard.
"Yeah?"
Her lips parted, then closed again. She shook her head. "Never mind."
But her eyes—just for that fleeting second—had held something almost vulnerable. Almost like she wanted to say more.
And it left me wondering.
---
The activity ended, but my thoughts didn't. Even as the classroom noise swelled again, my focus stayed on her.
She stood to put away her things, and I noticed the way her hands trembled again, just slightly. Most would think she was just tired or nervous about class. But I knew there was more.
There always was.
When the bell rang, we spilled into the hallway. Maya and Eli flanked her instantly, drawing her into their chatter. She seemed lighter around them, her voice quicker, her laughter easier.
But when her eyes met mine across the hall, the brightness faltered. Her laugh cut short. And she turned away.
That familiar pinch pulled at my chest.
I didn't know what I'd done to make her act that way. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But the distance she put between us felt intentional, and I couldn't stop myself from caring.
---
Later that day, in another class, it happened again. Pairing.
The universe had some strange sense of humor, because once more the teacher called our names together.
"Sam and Rhaine."
I saw the way she stiffened, the faint flush rising to her cheeks. She muttered under her breath again. Something about "always pairing."
I bit back another laugh, though this time it wasn't amusement I felt, it was something warmer. Something softer.
We sat side by side again, her posture straight, mine relaxed. She wouldn't look at me, not fully, but I noticed how her pen stilled on the page whenever I leaned closer. How her breath hitched just slightly when my arm brushed hers.
It was in the little things—the way her guard slipped for half a second before snapping back into place.
And then it happened.
She pushed her glasses up with her knuckle, a small, unconscious habit. But the gesture jolted something in me.
I'd seen it before. Not here. Not now. Somewhere else.
A faint image flickered at the edge of my memory: a younger girl, smaller, laughing as she adjusted her glasses in the exact same way. Her hair shorter, her smile freer.
I blinked, and the image vanished.
Déjà vu.
I shook my head, brushing it off, but the feeling lingered. My chest tightened in a way I couldn't explain.
Could it be?
No. It was probably just coincidence.
But still, I found myself staring at her a little longer than I should, my thoughts tangled between the present and that shadow of memory.
---
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Not from classes, but from thinking.
From watching her walls go up and down, up and down, never knowing which side of her I'd get. From catching those small glimpses the tremble of her hands, the muttered complaints, the fleeting vulnerability in her eyes.
And now, from the memory that wouldn't let go.
As I walked home, the sky painted in fading shades of orange, I realized something:
Rhaine De Fuentes was a puzzle. One I couldn't stop myself from wanting to solve.
Closer than she knew, I was already searching for the missing pieces.