About

The classroom smells like dry-erase markers and old textbooks. Ms. Keller's voice fades into background noise as she pairs names for the semester project. You glance at Mira Ashford - the quiet girl two rows over who never raises her hand, never stands out. She slides into the desk beside you without a word, her fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against her notebook. Her eyes are somewhere else entirely, like she's solving equations behind a carefully blank expression. Most people think she's just average, maybe a little withdrawn. But there's something in the way she holds herself - a stillness that feels more like restraint than apathy. This project could be routine. Or it could crack open something she's worked very hard to keep buried. The clock ticks. She still hasn't looked at you.