The quiet of the empty library was almost deafening. Evangeline walked purposefully toward Clara, who was hunched over a small notebook, her pen gliding across the pages. Hearing the soft footsteps, Clara glanced up, startled to see Eva standing before her. She quickly closed her notebook and stood, forcing a polite smile.
"Uh, hi?" Clara said, her voice cautious.
Evangeline hesitated, her fingers twitching as if searching for the right words, she spoke with her hands, "I want to learn."
Clara tilted her head, confused. "Learn what?"
"I want to learn," Eva repeated, her hands moving deliberately, "how to understand others. How not to hurt them."
Clara's expression softened, though she tried to mask it. With a sigh, she said, "And who told you I know how?"
Evangeline pointed to the closed notebook Clara clutched protectively. Then, after a moment's pause, she continued with her hands, "To be clear, I want to understand my sister. She told me she's not who I think she is. And then... I saw you with her. You looked upset, but at the same time, you were always on her side. If I had seen that earlier, maybe things wouldn't have turned out like this."
Clara stared at the notebook, her fingers tightening around its edges. For a long moment, the silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the faint rustle of pages in the distance.
"I can't teach you," Clara said finally, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. "But I can share a secret."
Eva leaned forward slightly, her brows knitting in anticipation.
Clara glanced out the window, her gaze distant. "Watch from a distance. Don't interfere, don't judge. Just... observe. People reveal themselves when they think no one's looking."
Eva's hands moved again, asking the unspoken question: "Will that help me understand her?"
Clara met Eva's eyes, her expression unreadable. "It's not easy to truly understand anyone. It takes patience, and even then, you might not like what you see." She paused, her tone softening. "But maybe... maybe that's what makes love real. Loving someone for everything they are, even the parts you don't understand."
Eva lowered her hands, her gaze fixed on Clara as if searching for hidden meaning in her words. Without another word, she turned and left, her steps echoing faintly in the library's vast emptiness.
Clara remained rooted in place, her fingers brushing the edges of her notebook. For a brief moment, she considered opening it, revisiting the pages Eva seemed so certain held answers. Instead, She just sat on her chair, her thoughts swirling like a quiet storm.
Clara, who knew the answer to every question, needed to ask herself if she really knew the truth.
But she didn't notice, as soon as Eva noticed someone, Autumn also notices.
So Autumn, after learning a few things about Clara, went to meet her. She was full of doubts.
The school library, late afternoon. Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the dusty bookshelves. The quiet hum of the air conditioner is the only sound, save for the occasional rustle of pages. Clara sits at a corner table, her head bent over a small leather-bound notebook.
Autumn who lately hated silence—it gave her thoughts too much room to grow, too much power to suffocate. Yet, as she stepped into the library, the quiet wrapped around her like a shroud, amplifying the sight of Clara hunched over her notebook.
Clara didn't look up, didn't even flinch as Autumn approached.
"Hello there strange girl, don't you think there's a lot we should say?"
"Oh, I'd love to," Clara replied, "though I don't think I have anything to say."
"Really? Because it looks like you've been scribbling a lot lately. You've been watching me, haven't you?"
At that, Clara finally met her gaze. Her expression was calm, her tone measured.
"Observing. There's a difference."
Autumn leaned closer "And why, exactly, are you observing? What are you writing about?"
Clara sighed, closing the notebook gently, almost as if it were something precious.
"You. Theo. Evangeline. Everything, really. I've been documenting what's been happening."
"Documenting? Who gave you the right to do that? What, is this some kind of twisted hobby for you?"
"Call it what you want. But someone needs to tell the real story, Autumn. Not the version everyone whispers about in the halls. The truth."
Autumn: "And what truth would that be, Clara? That I'm some tragic queen who fell from grace? Or maybe just the villain everyone loves to hate?"
Clara tilted her head, studying Autumn as if she were a puzzle.
"Neither. You're not a queen, and you're not a villain. You're... complicated. Messy. Human. And that's exactly what makes this worth writing about."
The words hit Autumn harder than any insult could have.
"You had no right to do this behind my back."
"Maybe. But think about it—when was the last time anyone really saw you, Autumn? I mean, truly saw past all the layers you put up. I did. And honestly, I'm not sure you even see yourself anymore."
Autumn felt the breath leave her lungs, a painful hollowing in her chest.
"Since you know so much, you should know that I don't care. This is none of your business, my life."
Clara stood, slipping the notebook into her bag with , "Maybe it isn't. But sometimes, stories write themselves, Autumn. And whether you like it or not, you've been at the center of one for a while now. I just happened to pick up the pen."
"What are you planning to do with it? Your observations."
"That depends on how your story ends."
As Clara walked past her, the silence returned, heavier than before. Autumn stared after her, her mind a storm of emotions she couldn't quite name.
(Autumn said to herself, almost inaudibly) "And what if I don't know how it ends yet?"
Clara paused at the library door, turning back briefly with a faint smile.
Clara: "Then maybe it's time you start writing it yourself."
As Autumn sank into a nearby chair, her gaze lingered on the table where Clara had sat. For the first time in a long while, she felt exposed—not as the flawless facade she had spent years perfecting, but as the messy, complicated human Clara had described.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that wasn't such a bad thing.