Morning came like it always did—reluctantly.
Vanessa lay curled up in bed, eyes closed, arm draped over her forehead. A soft groan escaped her lips as sunlight crept through the curtains.
She yawned, long and loud, then sat up slowly, dragging a hand through her tangled blonde hair. It stuck out in every direction, refusing to cooperate. She stared at it in the mirror for a few seconds before deciding she didn't have the energy to fight it yet.
Shuffling toward the bathroom, she began her usual routine.
Face cleanser first. A rinse. Then brushing her teeth. And finally—her favorite part—the bath.
Vanessa loved long showers. Correction: she lived for them. It was her escape, her thinking space, her moment of calm before the storm of school, life, and everything in between.
And every morning, like clockwork, someone was annoyed about it.
Knock knock knock!
"Vany!" Jasmine shouted from the hallway, pounding on the door. "You've been in there forever! Get out already!"
But Vanessa didn't hear her. She had her earbuds in, music turned up to full volume, eyes closed as she let the hot water run over her shoulders.
Outside, Jasmine stood with crossed arms and an exhausted look. "This girl..." she muttered, giving up and storming off back to her room.
Some things never changed.
Jasmine was Vanessa's only sibling—two years younger, louder, and far more impulsive. Their relationship had its cracks—arguing, bickering, silence when things got hard—but beneath all of it, there was a bond neither of them liked to admit. Especially Jasmine.
Back in her room, Vanessa dried off and started prepping her uniform. A short black skirt, crisp white blouse, and her usual pair of clean white New Balance sneakers. She carefully added a few small accessories—silver rings, a charm bracelet, and a hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. Little touches of personality she rarely explained to anyone.
BAM!
"Vany!" Jasmine shouted, bursting into the room without knocking.
"What do you want?" Vanessa snapped, already halfway buttoning her shirt.
"Did Dad show up again?! At Mom's shop?" Jasmine asked, wide-eyed.
Vanessa paused. "Yeah, Jas. He did."
Jasmine's face dropped. "I heard it from my friends. They said some drunk guy trashed the place—threw flower pots and smashed the window."
"Yeah. That tracks. Crazy isn't exactly a stretch."
"That old piece of shit..." Jasmine hissed. "How would he feel if I walked into his shop and trashed his life?"
Vanessa looked at her, quiet for a moment. "He probably wouldn't care. Honestly... I think he'd laugh. But he treasures his kids. More than you think."
Jasmine's expression twisted. "So what, he treats us like garbage but we're supposed to feel lucky just because he could've been worse?"
Vanessa shook her head slowly. "No. I don't feel lucky. I feel tired. And pissed. And I think Mom's still hanging on because he used to show that kind of love. Once."
"That's bullshit," Jasmine muttered. "He doesn't love anyone. And if Mom can't let go of him, then maybe we have to do it for her."
Vanessa didn't say anything. She just went back to straightening her skirt in the mirror, her reflection calm—too calm.
"Why can't we just move?" Jasmine said, pacing near the doorframe.
"Because we need money for that," Vanessa replied flatly as she adjusted her bracelet.
"We could rob the old man," Jasmine muttered. "He makes so much money and still acts broke."
Vanessa didn't look up. "I'd rather not take anything from that man. Not even air."
"Well, I will. I'm gonna take everything he has," Jasmine snapped. "He owes us that much."
Vanessa gave a tired sigh, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. "Do whatever you like."
She headed for the door.
"I'll see you later," she said, pausing briefly before stepping into the hallway.
As she passed through the living room, she saw her mother standing in the small kitchen, flipping eggs in a pan. The smell of butter and toast filled the air.
"You're leaving already?" Celia asked without turning around. "Why don't you stay and eat something?"
Vanessa paused, then shook her head. "I'm fine. I'll see you later, Mom."
She slipped out the front door and closed it gently behind her, stepping into the cold morning air with her thoughts packed heavier than her bag.
Vanessa always left home early—an hour before most students. Not just to paint, but to breathe. Mornings were the only time she felt like she could slip away from the heaviness of home. The quiet helped her think. The empty streets helped her feel invisible, which on most days, was a relief.
She stopped by the same convenience store she always did. The bell above the door gave a lazy chime as she entered.
The old man behind the register looked up from his newspaper and gave her a nod. He was always there, even at sunrise, like some quiet guardian of the city's half-asleep hours.
"Morning, kid," he said.
"Morning," Vanessa replied with a small smile, her voice soft.
She didn't buy anything. She never did. But the routine mattered.
Then she made her way through the maze of alleyways she knew like the back of her hand and caught the first bus headed toward school. The city rolled past the window like a moving painting—one she didn't bother to study anymore.
When the bus stopped at the bottom of the hill near campus, she stepped off and made her way up the incline, the school building looming ahead, still waking up.
At the gate, the familiar figure of Mr. Hamlin, the school security guard, stood sipping coffee from a thermos.
"You're here early again," he said with a small grin.
"Mr. Hamlin. Good morning," Vanessa replied politely.
"Morning, Vanessa." He reached into his coat pocket and handed her a wrapped pastry. "Here. You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?"
She blinked, surprised, but took it. "A bit... Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he said, already turning back to his post. "Go make something good in that art room."
"I'll try," she said, clutching the snack gently like it meant more than it should have.
And then she stepped onto campus—alone, but not completely invisible.
Vanessa walked quietly toward the art room, the hallway still empty, the school only half-awake. Reaching the door, she slid it open.
Sunlight poured through the sheer white curtains, casting long, golden beams across the room. Dust floated in the air like drifting fireflies.
Near the window, in the seat she usually claimed for herself, sat someone unexpected—but increasingly familiar.
Vince.
He was leaning back in the chair, one arm propped on the table, gazing out the window like he belonged there. When he heard the door, he turned around with a lazy grin.
"You're finally here," he said. "Good morning."
His smile was wide, genuine—unbothered.
Vanessa paused in the doorway, one brow raising.
Of all the people in her world, she never imagined this boy would start to feel... routine.
Familiar.
Odd.
Yet, somehow, not unwelcome.