The drive to school had been silent.
Not peacefully so. The kind of silence that settled between two people who had long stopped trying to fill it, heavy and familiar, like an old argument neither of them had the energy to finish.
When they arrived at Jade High, Tesni in the front seat turned and smiled. That smile. The one that had never once cost her anything.
"Have fun, Aine."
Tesni stepped out, slammed the door a little harder than necessary, and waved. "Bye."
Be careful, Tesni, Aine said bitterly, the words meant for no one, swallowed by the empty car before they could reach air.
"All those people waiting in the hallway are here for me. Stop living a boring life," Tesni had teased on the drive over, her eyes catching Aine's in the rearview mirror for just a moment, laughing like it cost her nothing to say it.
A boring life.
Aine's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She watched Tesni disappear through the school entrance, the crowd folding around her like she had always belonged at the centre of everything. Maybe she had.
But Aine knew the truth, even if no one ever thought to ask.
Ever since her mother's death, the world had lost its colour. Quietly. Completely. The kind of loss that doesn't announce itself but simply remains, day after day, until grey starts to feel normal. Even simple joys felt distant now, hanging just out of reach, like a language she used to speak fluently and had slowly, painfully forgotten.
She stared at the school gates a moment longer.
The driver leaned out of the window, his voice cutting gently through the morning air. "Miss Aine, should I drive you all the way or will you walk from here?"
"Let me walk," she said.
She smiled faintly as she got out, slinging her bag over her shoulder. It wasn't much of a smile, barely a ghost of one, but it was real. The ten minute walk from the junction had become her small daily rebellion. The one thing in her carefully grey routine that felt like a choice she had made for herself.
She hadn't gone far before footsteps quickened behind her and Jessy caught up, falling into step beside her with the easy confidence of someone who had done it a hundred times before. Because she had.
Aine rarely spoke to anyone. She had built her silence like a fortress, brick by brick, after her mother died, and most people had the good sense to respect the walls. But Jessy's persistent kindness had been something else entirely. Patient. Undemanding. The kind that didn't ask for anything in return and somehow, without Aine ever consciously deciding it, had worn her down until Jessy became the one person she trusted.
"Hi, Aine!"
"Hi, Jessy."
"Do you want to grab a coffee on the way?" Jessy asked brightly, already nodding toward the small shop at the corner like the decision was practically made.
"I don't take coffee."
Jessy tilted her head, genuinely puzzled. "Why? Are you allergic?"
A beat of silence.
"Yes," Aine said.
The lie came easily. It always did. Because the truth was not something she was willing to hand over on a Tuesday morning on the way to school. The truth was that every sip reminded her of her mother. Of warm kitchens and unhurried mornings and the sound of a laugh she would never hear again.
"Then let me grab a cup. I'll be quick," Jessy said, already moving toward the door, unbothered and bright as ever.
"Sure."
While Jessy disappeared inside the shop, Aine stood outside on the pavement, hands loose at her sides, staring through the glass.
The warm light. The steam rising from cups. People hunched over tables, comfortable and unhurried.
She used to be that child. The one who ran into every coffee shop without being asked, who would take a careful sip from her mother's cup and compare it solemnly to the last one, declaring verdicts with the seriousness of someone doing very important work. Her mother would laugh every time. That deep, warm laugh that filled every room it entered.
Aine's reflection stared back at her from the glass, quiet and still.
She looked nothing like that child anymore.
Jessy soon returned, cup in hand, steam curling lazily into the morning air. "Let's go."
They fell back into step together, the comfortable rhythm of two people who had learned each other's pace without ever discussing it.
At the hallway, Jessy grinned, the kind of grin that meant she had already spotted three people she wanted to talk to and was barely containing herself. "Here we go again." She gave Aine a quick glance, bright and unbothered. "See you in language class!"
And just like that she was gone, swallowed by the noise and movement of the morning corridor, leaving Aine to walk the rest of the way alone.
Which was, truthfully, how she preferred it.
Design class had a smell that Aine had never quite been able to describe to anyone. Fabric and chalk and something older underneath, like creativity itself had seeped into the walls over years of use. She sat quietly at her desk, fingers resting lightly on the edge of her brown file, and let the familiarity of it settle around her like a coat.
"Good morning, Miss Diana," the class chorused.
"Good morning, everyone." Miss Diana's voice carried its usual warm authority, the kind that didn't need to raise itself to be heard. "Please place your work on the table."
The room rustled into motion. Aine watched her teacher move from desk to desk, unhurried and precise, correcting a line here, offering a quiet word of guidance there. Miss Diana had a way of making criticism feel like a gift, which Aine respected more than she had ever said out loud.
She let her mind drift slightly as she waited.
She hadn't chosen design. Not really. That choice had been made for her the moment her stepmother decided that the future of her father's textile company needed a face, a capable, groomed, obedient face, and Aine's happened to be the most convenient one available. So here she was. Enrolled in the design and textile program, being quietly shaped into something she wasn't sure she recognised yet.
The strange thing was, she didn't hate it.
She hated that she didn't hate it.
Miss Diana's footsteps slowed as she reached Aine's desk. She paused in a way that was different from the other pauses, longer, more considered.
"Aine, your work," she said, her voice softening with something close to approval. "I know you're the best at all times."
Aine nodded silently and slid the brown file across the table.
Miss Diana opened it. And stopped.
Her eyes widened in genuine surprise, the kind that couldn't be performed, the kind that meant something had caught her completely off guard.
"Wow, Aine…" She looked up. "What inspired this?"
Aine hesitated for just a moment, the question reaching somewhere quieter than she usually allowed people to reach.
"I saw a spider's web on my way home," she said finally, her voice soft but steady. "Covered in water droplets. The way the light caught them… it just stayed with me."
The classroom had gone subtly quieter around them, the way rooms do when something real is being said.
"That's beautiful," Miss Diana smiled, warmth spreading across her face like sunrise. "Very good, Aine."
She straightened and addressed the class, her tone shifting back into its professional register. "Everyone, please put your pieces inside your frame cases."
"Yes, Miss," they replied in unison.
"Let's move on to today's business," Miss Diana said, reaching for her notes.
And it was precisely at that moment that Aine's phone buzzed quietly against her thigh.