Ch. 4: Stranger in Familiar Halls

Kael stood at the threshold of his new classroom, fingers gripping the strap of his backpack tightly. The hallway buzzed with unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar sounds, and that overwhelming scent of floor polish and ink—fresh starts wrapped in pressure.

The teacher, a woman in her thirties with kind eyes and a sharp bob, smiled at him. "This is Kael Moreno, our new transfer student," she announced to the class. "Please treat him kindly."

Kael offered a small smile and waved, ignoring the whispering that followed.

"I'm Kael. I like music, late-night walks, and I guess… pancakes."

Some students chuckled softly.

"You may sit by the window," the teacher said, gesturing to the empty desk near the back. "Next to Hiroshi."

Hiroshi turned and waved Kael over. He had soft brown hair, dyed lighter at the tips, and a face that seemed to be built for grins. Kael slid into the seat beside him, exhaling softly.

"Yo," Hiroshi said. "Nice intro. Pancakes, huh?"

Kael grinned. "Figured I'd make an impression."

"You did. You'll fit in fast here—just don't let the teachers know you're cooler than them."

"Noted."

The class rolled on in a blur of lectures and introductions, but Hiroshi made it easier. He whispered comments under his breath, made Kael laugh when he wasn't supposed to, and shared gum halfway through math class like they were already friends.

Still, in every class change, Kael found himself scanning the halls for him.

Riven.

He didn't have to look hard. Riven moved like shadows—quiet, clean, confident. Always with his headphones in, always a few feet away from everyone else. He didn't speak. People didn't approach him.

But they looked.

He was the kind of person you noticed, even when he clearly didn't want to be noticed.

At lunch, Kael followed Hiroshi and his group to the rooftop—the "cool-but-secret" hangout spot, apparently. They sat around eating bentos and sharing snacks, chattering about weekend plans and exam rumors.

Kael listened, nodded, laughed, and then—

"Hey, isn't that your roommate?" one girl asked, gesturing down toward the field.

Kael looked.

There he was—Riven—sitting under the tree near the sports track, bent over a small rice container, earphones still in, shoulders hunched forward like a shield.

"He's kinda famous, you know," said another guy. "People say he used to get into fights."

"Fights?" Kael raised an eyebrow.

Hiroshi nodded. "Yeah. Last year. Some upperclassman picked on a junior and Riven snapped. I wasn't there, but people say he broke a desk. Now everyone gives him space."

Kael frowned. That didn't sound like the version of Riven he'd been awkwardly sharing a room with for the past few days. Cold, yes. Harsh, maybe. But violent?

"He seems… quiet."

"Yeah," Hiroshi agreed. "But sometimes quiet people carry the loudest weight, y'know?"

Kael didn't reply. He kept watching Riven as he ate alone.

---

That evening, the house felt quiet again—comfortably so. Kael dropped his bag by the door and kicked off his shoes. Mrs. Sato greeted him warmly, but Riven was nowhere to be seen.

"Upstairs," she said, as if reading his mind. "He said school was 'fine.' That's all I got out of him."

Kael chuckled and headed up to their room. He opened the door quietly and found Riven on the top bunk, lying back with a book in his hands. No earphones this time.

"You didn't sit with me at lunch," Kael said casually, throwing himself onto his bed.

"I don't sit with people," Riven replied without looking down.

Kael stretched out on the lower bunk, arms behind his head. "People say you're dangerous."

"They say a lot of things."

"Were you?"

Silence.

Then: "No."

Kael exhaled softly. "Good."

The room fell into a strange, comfortable hush. Kael reached into his backpack, pulled out a small, foil-wrapped pastry, and held it up toward the top bunk.

"Want half?" he asked.

A beat passed.

Then Riven leaned down, met Kael's eyes for the briefest moment, and took the pastry wordlessly.

Kael didn't say anything else. He just smiled to himself and stared at the ceiling as they ate.

They didn't talk about school, or rumors, or loneliness.

But something unspoken passed between them.

A fragile truce.

A thread of understanding.