"Sometimes starting over feels like learning to breathe again."
The morning light spilled through the curtains, warm and soft - the kind that makes everything look calm even when it isn't.
Maliya sat on the edge of her bed, uniform folded neatly beside her. She'd spent the last fifteen minutes staring at it, like maybe if she looked long enough, it would disappear.
Her mom's voice floated from downstairs.
"Maliya! You'll be late!"
She sighed. "Coming!"
Truth was, she didn't want to go. Not yet. The idea of starting over - of walking into a place full of people, full of stares, full of noise - made her chest feel tight. What if they were like them? What if things repeated themselves all over again?
Her mom appeared at the door, soft eyes and a smile that tried to be firm.
"Sweetheart, you can't stay locked up here forever. You'll be okay, I promise. Just... try."
So she did.
The drive to Ridgeway International School was quiet. Her dad tried small talk - something about traffic, something about how this school was one of the best in the city - but she barely heard him.
When the school gates came into view, she almost forgot to breathe.
It was big. Too big. The sign at the entrance read Ridgeway International School - bold silver letters against a white marble wall. Her dad wasn't kidding when he said it was one of the most prestigious schools in the city.
Students from all over the world walked across the courtyard - faces of different shades, voices blending in accents from every corner of the map. Ridgeway was the kind of school people dreamed about getting into. A place where culture met confidence, and where everyone seemed to belong somewhere.
Everyone, except maybe her.
The uniform felt stiff on her - navy skirt, white shirt, gray blazer with the school crest stitched perfectly. She'd plaited her hair the night before, neat as always, her soft cap resting comfortably over it. She liked that small bit of order, the quiet routine of it.
Class went by in a blur. Names. Faces. Teachers smiling too brightly. She found a seat near the window, where she could look outside if things got too loud.
When lunch came, she sat alone - her tray untouched, her thoughts louder than the chatter around her.
She watched groups form. The confident ones, the quiet ones, the ones who already looked like they'd been friends forever.
And then, just for a second, she saw a familiar face. No - not familiar, exactly. But something about them. The way they laughed, the way their eyes lit up - it reminded her too much of the past.
Her fingers tightened around her fork. Not again.
Still, she couldn't look away.
"Crazy," she whispered. "They're also in this school?"
Her stomach dropped.
And for the first time that day, Maliya realized - some things don't stay buried.
To be continued...