The first day of senior year should’ve felt exciting—new beginnings, fresh notebooks, and people reuniting after a summer apart. But for Liana Hayes, it was just another reminder that nothing really changed.

Same school. Same faces. Same aching silence where her mom’s voice used to be.

She tightened her grip on the straps of her backpack and stepped off the school bus, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. The sky was unusually grey for September, clouds rolling in thick and heavy like her thoughts. She kept her eyes low, earbuds in, hoping no one would try to make small talk. Liana preferred blending into the background. It was safer there.

Then, a deep rumble cut through the morning air.

A sleek black motorcycle pulled into the school parking lot, drawing attention like a magnet. Heads turned. Phones came out. Even the group of boys pretending to be too cool for anything paused their conversation.

The rider wore a black leather jacket, helmet tucked under his arm, dark hair tousled like he'd just walked out of a movie. His gaze swept over the campus with the kind of disinterest that came from knowing you were more interesting than anything around you.

Kieran Wolfe.

The name spread like wildfire even before first period. The new boy. Mysterious. Dangerous. The kind your parents warned you about. The kind with secrets and stories he’d never tell.

Liana tried not to care. She didn’t do drama. She didn’t do boys. Not since her heart had become something she folded up and packed away with her childhood.

But when she walked into her homeroom and found the only empty seat… right next to him, the universe apparently decided otherwise.

He looked up as she approached, eyes sharp, calculating. Then—without warning—he smiled.

“You gonna sit or keep staring, sunflower?”

Her heart did a weird flutter. Sunflower?

“I—I wasn’t staring,” she mumbled, sliding into the chair beside him and pulling out her notebook.

He leaned back lazily. “Sure you weren’t.”

She ignored him, willing the heat in her cheeks to disappear. Who even talked like that?

The teacher arrived moments later, rattling off attendance and launching into a welcome speech that no one really listened to. Liana doodled small sunflowers in the corner of her notebook, annoyed that his nickname for her had somehow crept into her head.

“Name’s Kieran,” he said suddenly, tapping his pencil against the desk.

“I didn’t ask,” she replied, still not looking at him.

“But you were dying to.”

She turned then, finally meeting his eyes—stormy grey and full of mischief. “You’re not as charming as you think you are.”

“And you’re not as invisible as you think you are.”

She blinked. That one hit harder than she wanted it to.

Kieran just smirked, eyes returning to the front of the room.

The bell rang a few minutes later, but Liana remained seated for a beat longer.

For the first time in a long time, something had stirred in her quiet little world.

And it had stormy eyes and a smirk that spelt trouble.

---

Liana told herself she wouldn’t think about him again. Not his voice. Not that smirk. It's not the ridiculous nickname.

And yet, there she was—twenty minutes into second period—still hearing it in her head. Sunflower.

No one had called her that before. No one had really called her anything in a long time.

The rest of the morning blurred by in sleepy lectures and half-hearted note-taking. But when the lunch bell rang, everything sharpened.

She stepped into the cafeteria, gripping her tray like a shield. The noise was instant—laughter, arguments, the clatter of trays. Liana scanned the room for a quiet spot.

Her usual corner was taken.

So was her backup table.

She turned slowly, preparing to eat outside, when a voice stopped her.

“Sunshine. Over here.”

Her stomach did a small, annoying flip.

Kieran Wolfe sat at the far end of a table near the window, boots up on the chair beside him like he owned the place. He nodded toward the seat across from him, casually tossing an apple between his hands.

“No thanks,” she said quickly.

“You sure? Looks like you’re about to dine with the squirrels.”

She hesitated. Every part of her wanted to keep walking, to hold onto the invisible bubble she’d crafted so carefully over the years.

But something inside her—the lonely part - the curious part—moved her feet before her brain could stop it.

She sat.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he said, sounding impressed.

“Me neither,” she muttered, stabbing her fork into her rice.

He grinned. “So. Tell me something boring about you.”

“What?”

“You look like the type who’s all mystery and mood lighting. C’mon—give me something dull. Like your favourite cereal.”

She rolled her eyes but said, “Cinnamon Squares.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Respectable choice.”

“What about you? Or are you too edgy for cereal?”

“Frosted Flakes,” he said without shame. “Judge all you want.”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

“What are you even doing here?” she asked. “You don’t seem like the school type.”

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Got into trouble back home. Mom thought a ‘fresh start’ might fix me.”

“Will it?”

He shrugged. “Doubt it.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The noise of the cafeteria faded into background fuzz.

“You don’t talk to anyone else,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “Neither do you.”

“Yeah, but I like it that way. You… I think you used to talk. I think something made you stop.”

Her chest tightened. “You don’t know me.”

“No,” he said. “But I will.”

She pushed her tray away, suddenly too full to eat. “I have class.”

He watched her stand. “Library after school. For the project.”

She nodded once, then walked away—fast, like distance could undo the strange feeling in her chest.

He was right.

She had stopped talking.

But somehow, Kieran Wolfe had started to make the silence feel too loud.

---

The library smelled like dust and forgotten thoughts. Old books lined the shelves, their spines faded and cracked. It was Liana’s favorite place in the entire school—quiet, calm, predictable. She hadn’t had to share it with anyone before.

Until now.

Kieran Wolfe strolled in ten minutes late, looking like he belonged more in a tattoo shop than a school library. His black hoodie was pulled halfway over his head, earbuds dangling from one ear. His sketchbook was under one arm, half-covered in pen scribbles.

“Nice of you to show up,” Liana said without looking up from her notebook.

“You sound surprised I came at all,” he said, dropping into the seat across from her.

“I am.”

He smirked. “Starting to think you like me, Sunshine.”

“Starting to think you like hearing yourself talk.”

He laughed, loud enough for the librarian to glare over the edge of her glasses.

Liana rolled her eyes. “We have to choose a topic.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze fixed on her face. “How the past shapes the present. What a cheerful theme.”

She paused. “Do you want to talk about something personal? Or should we just stick to historical stuff?”

“Historical sounds safer,” he said, though his tone shifted—slightly duller, guarded.

“Okay,” she said softly, flipping to a clean page. “We could do childhood trauma through fairy tales.”

He blinked. “That’s your idea of ‘safe’?”

She shrugged. “Fairy tales were originally dark stories meant to warn children. It shows how adults shaped young minds with fear.”

Kieran stared at her for a second longer than necessary.

“You surprise me,” he said finally.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

They spent the next hour bouncing ideas back and forth. Kieran was smarter than she expected—not that she’d thought he was dumb, but the way he picked up on themes and symbolism caught her off guard. His notebook, she realized, wasn’t for class. It was full of ink drawings—skulls, roses, a wolf howling at a broken moon.

“You draw,” she said, tilting her head. “A lot.”

He closed the notebook before she could see more. “Yeah.”

She sensed the wall go back up.

“You’re good,” she added, gently.

His jaw tightened like he didn’t know how to accept the compliment. “Thanks.”

They packed up when the bell rang. Neither moved quickly, like some invisible thread kept them anchored to the table.

“Same time tomorrow?” she asked, slipping her pen into her bag.

“Yeah,” he said. Then paused. “Hey, Liana?”

She turned. He’d never said her name before. It sounded softer on his lips, like he’d taken the edge out of it.

“You talk more when you’re not pretending you’re invisible.”

She didn’t smile. Not exactly.

But something about her face changed—like the sun had peeked through a cloud.

“And you’re not always a storm.”

He watched her walk away, unsure when her words had become the ones echoing in his head.

---