The air in the classroom felt too still. The buzz outside had faded, replaced by the low hum of AC and the shuffle of notebooks. Divine's fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve. Her breath had evened out, but the weight in her chest hadn't lifted.
After a long moment, she stood. Her legs felt stiff, like they hadn't moved in years.
The hallway outside was mostly empty now. She scanned the numbers on each door, heart picking up speed again. Room 1A. Homeroom. Just find it. Just breathe.
At the end of the corridor, a tall man in a grey blazer was arranging files on a desk near an open door. He looked up as she approached—mid-forties, warm eyes behind thin glasses, and the kind of calm presence that didn't try too hard.
"Divine, isn't it?" he asked gently, stepping forward.
She nodded, barely lifting her head.
"I'm Mr. jude" your homeroom teacher. Welcome back."
His voice was soft, like he understood she didn't need a spotlight.
He didn't say you've changed or we heard what happened. He just said, "We've kept your seat by the window. If it's too much today, I'll understand. You're not expected to rush anything."
Divine's eyes flickered to his—just briefly. There was no pity there. Only space.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper, as if using it too much might break something inside her.
Mr. jude smiled. "Take your time settling in. You're not alone here."
She nodded again and stepped into the classroom,
The classroom was too cold.
Divine hugged her blazer tighter as she walked in. Rows of students turned to look, their chatter dropping to a murmur. A few girls near the window giggled. One boy at the back raised an eyebrow and whispered something to his seatmate.
She caught a few words:
"...the girl you were talking about right ?…"
"...mental breakdown, hmmm ?"
"Scholarship case…"
The teacher, a tall woman with round glasses and an accent that dripped British boarding school, looked up from her laptop.
"Ah. You must be Miss Divine."
She motioned toward the center of the room. "Introduce yourself, dear."
Divine swallowed. Her palms were damp. For a moment, her mind blanked.
But then she remembered Lara's voice that morning: "You'll shine, Divine. Even if it takes time to believe it."
She raised her chin. "I'm Divine Kingsley. I just transferred to Crestwood… and I'm glad to be here."
There was an awkward silence—then a single clap. The boy in the back. Tall, with headphones around his neck. He nodded slightly.
"Thank you, Divine. Take your seat," the teacher said.
the silence inside less heavy now, like someone had opened a window.
Her desk waited near the window, sunlight spilling across the surface. She sat down slowly, placing her bag on the floor. The badge glinted faintly in the light.
Outside, a bird fluttered past, unnoticed by everyone else.
But Divine saw it.
And for now, that was enough.
Lunch period came, but Divine didn't move.
The cafeteria noise buzzed faintly through the walls, the soft clatter of trays and rising chatter echoing from a world that didn't quite feel like hers yet.
She stayed in her seat, arms folded tightly around herself, pretending to reread the same sentence in her textbook. Her stomach had curled into itself hours ago.
But the growing pressure in her lower abdomen gave her no choice.
She stood slowly, wincing.
Her right leg—the one that hadn't fully healed since the fire—ached in a dull, familiar way. It always did when she sat too long. She had stopped limping a year ago, but there were still days when the joint resisted, when her body reminded her that survival had come at a cost.
She made her way through the empty hallway. Her gait was careful, measured—not enough to draw attention, but a step slower than others. She found the restroom, splashed cool water on her face, and stared at her reflection.
The lights above flickered slightly. Her mother's face didn't appear today.
Not yet.
On her way back, she took the long corridor by mistake—or maybe not a mistake at all. The polished glass doors of the dance studio caught her eye.
She paused.
The floor beyond the door gleamed. Sunlight spilled through the high windows, touching the wooden bars, the mirrors, the space that once felt like air beneath her feet. Her breath caught in her throat.
And then—"Divine?"
She turned.
Miss Collins, her old dance instructor, stood at the doorway, holding a folder against her chest. Her braided hair was pulled back, her posture graceful even in stillness.
"You're back," she said, her voice gentle but clear. "I wasn't sure you'd walk this way again."
Divine swallowed. Her fingers flexed at her sides.
"I wasn't sure either," she whispered.
Miss colins stepped aside, gesturing toward the room. "It's always open. When you're ready."
Divine didn't move. She simply nodded, once.
Her leg throbbed faintly again, but she barely noticed this time. She turned away, continuing down the hall, the mirrors behind her catching just a glimpse of the girl she used to be.
And then her eyes dropped to her on her chest
The badge Joseph had pinned there—"Dancing Queen Divine"—glinted softly in the light. It was lopsided, barely hanging on, but it was his way of saying, you're still her.
Her throat tightened. She reached down and pressed her fingers gently against the little badge, holding onto it like a thread.
She didn't remember making the choice to step forward—her feet moved before her mind did. The door creaked faintly as she pushed it open, and the cool air of the studio swept over her skin. It smelled the same—of wood polish and faint lavender, with that lingering scent of motion, of bodies dancing, of music long since played.
She took a step in, cautious, her injured leg stiff but obedient. Then another. The pain was there, just enough to remind her of the fire, the screams, the metal. But she didn't stop.
Her hand brushed the barre.
Her reflection stared back. Still. Guarded. But… standing.
And then she let herself remember: the pirouettes, the laughter with Mia after class, the way Miss colins used to clap once when she got a sequence right.
It all lived here—buried, but not lost.
"You don't have to do anything," came a voice behind her.
Divine turned.
Miss colins had reappeared at the door, her expression calm, unreadable, but her eyes—her eyes held a quiet pride. "Just stand. That's enough for today."
Divine didn't answer. She simply nodded and turned back to the mirror, the badge still clutched lightly in one hand.
She didn't dance.
But she stayed.
And that was enough.