People always said I was like the sun.

Bright. Warm. Cheerful. Reliable.

The kind of person who always showed up with a smile, who remembered birthdays, helped with group projects, and never once forgot her umbrella.

I guess that’s who I became — the girl who made things easier for everyone else. A steady light in the middle of chaotic hallways. A safe space. A straight A+ student who never once broke the rules, never once lost control.

But here’s the thing no one tells you about being the sun:

You get tired.

You smile so hard, sometimes your face hurts. You shine for everyone, but nobody ever asks how much it costs to stay bright all the time.

And you start to wonder… if anyone sees you, or if they only see the light you give them.

Still, I was okay with it. Being dependable. Predictable. Good.

Until she showed up.

I remember the day clearly — not because anything dramatic happened, but because the air shifted in a way I couldn’t explain. Like the start of a storm, even if the sky was still clear.

She walked into class late. Not embarrassed, not rushed. Just... there. Like she didn’t owe anyone an explanation.

Her name was Isabella Cruz.

And she looked nothing like the rest of us.

Dark jacket, messy uniform, silver chain around her neck that definitely wasn’t dress code. Piercings. Boots. A look in her eyes like she'd already seen too much and didn’t care to see more.

She was everything I wasn’t.

Where I was light, she was shadows.

Where I was soft edges and warmth, she was sharp lines and cold glances.

She didn’t talk to anyone. People whispered when she passed by.

“Delinquent.”

“Trouble.”

“She got kicked out of her last school.”

They spoke like they knew her story. But something told me no one really did.

And I—stupidly, stubbornly—wanted to.

I didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way she looked out the window like she was trying to escape. Maybe it was the way she never smiled, like joy was something dangerous.

Or maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, someone stepped into my world... and didn’t seem affected by my light.

She didn’t flinch under it.

Didn’t praise it.

Didn’t even notice it.

And somehow, that made me want her to.

It’s funny, isn’t it?

The sun is supposed to light up the world. But all it took was one girl to make me feel like I was the one standing in the dark.

That was the beginning.

The moment the moon walked into my life.

Cold, distant, untouchable.

And yet, something in me began to orbit her.

This is the story of what happened when the sun met the moon.

And how, against all odds…

We fell into each other’s gravity.

And somehow, without meaning to… I started turning toward her, like I couldn’t help it. Like she had her own kind of gravity.

And the more I tried to ignore it,

the more I noticed everything about her.

The way her eyes didn’t just look — they measured.

The way silence followed her like a second shadow.

The way she never asked to be seen,

but somehow, she became the only thing I could see.

They say nothing exciting ever happens at Silverwood Academy.

But I remember the exact moment that changed.

It started like every other day.

I got up before my alarm, packed my lunch (okay—my mom packed it, but I picked the note she tucked inside), braided my hair just the way I liked, and made it to school with fifteen minutes to spare.

"Callie! You’re so early again!"

"Morning sunshine!"

"Callie, can I borrow your notes later?"

Everyone greeted me. I smiled back. I always do.

Not because I’m trying to be liked, but because I genuinely enjoy it — the routine, the warmth, the idea that maybe just being kind makes school feel a little less heavy for everyone.

By the time I sat down in my homeroom seat near the window — second row, third from the front — everything was in its right place. My notebooks were aligned. My pens were sorted by color. The sun was coming through the window just right.

Perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

The door creaked open five minutes after the bell, and a girl stepped in.

Everything about her made the air feel different.

She wore a black jacket over her uniform, had one earbud still dangling from her ear, and her eyes… they scanned the room like she was measuring it, not joining it.

"This is Isabella Cruz," Ms. Santiago said with her polite-but-done voice.

"She’s a transfer. Please treat her kindly."

No one moved. No one said anything.

I turned, just a little. Enough to see her shrug off the stares and slide into the empty seat behind mine like she didn’t care if the chair vanished beneath her.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch.

She just… sat. Like she belonged to a different world.

---

At lunch, I found my usual spot — under the acacia tree near the fountain where it was warm, breezy, and peaceful.

I had two spam musubi today. My mom always packed extra.

I unwrapped one, about to take a bite, when I saw her again.

Isabella.

She walked alone. No lunch tray. No bag. Just her hands shoved in her jacket pockets and her earbuds back in. She was headed for the back of the school, past the old gym — the side no one really went to unless they were skipping class or hiding from it.

I watched her.

I don’t know what made me stand up.

Maybe it was the extra rice ball in my hand.

Maybe it was the way she looked like she didn’t belong, but also didn’t care to.

Maybe it was the fact that for once — just once — I couldn’t read someone.

So I followed.

---

I found her sitting on the brick wall behind the gym, one leg dangling, back leaning lazily against the tree. Music was still blasting from her earbuds. Some rock band, maybe. Or angry rap.

I cleared my throat.

She didn’t move.

“Hey,” I said gently.

She looked at me slowly, like turning her head was too much effort. Her eyes were distant and ice-cold.

“If this is about some welcome committee thing,” she said, “you can skip it.”

“It’s not,” I said. “I just… noticed you didn’t have lunch.”

I held out the extra musubi.

“My mom made too many,” I added, like that made the offer less weird.

She stared at it. Then at me.

“…You’re weird.”

I laughed. “I get that a lot.”

She took it. Didn’t say thank you, just took a bite and stared back at the empty field.

I sat beside her. Close, but not too close.

“I’m Callie,” I said.

“I know,” she replied. “Everyone says your name like it’s a school mascot or something.”

That made me laugh again. “Better than being forgotten, right?”

She didn’t answer. But I saw it — the tiniest twitch at the corner of her mouth. Like a smile trying not to be born.

And for some reason, that tiny crack in her ice felt bigger than all the sunshine I’d ever given.

She didn’t talk after that, and neither did I.

We just sat there — me nibbling my musubi, her finishing hers like it was nothing special. But it was something. At least to me.

Nobody else ever took the extra one I brought. Not like that.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” I asked, keeping my tone soft.

She raised a brow. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m nervous,” I admitted with a laugh.

She gave me a look — not rude exactly, more… surprised. Like she wasn’t used to honesty being handed out without strings.

I plucked a blade of grass and twisted it between my fingers.

“People say a lot of things about you,” I said quietly, not really expecting a response.

She didn’t give one. But she didn’t leave either.

“They said you got kicked out of your last school. That you’re dangerous. Cold.”

She glanced sideways at me. “And you still came over?”

“Yeah,” I said, shrugging. “Because people also say I’m too nosy for my own good.”

A pause. Then:

“You really are weird.”

But this time, I swear there was the faintest smile hiding in her voice.

---

The bell rang and we stood up. She dusted off her jacket like it owed her something and shoved her hands back into her pockets.

“You gonna follow me around now, Sunshine?” she asked.

I grinned. “Only if you keep calling me that.”

She rolled her eyes and walked off, but not before I noticed: she didn’t put her earbuds back in.

And maybe that meant something.

---

Back in class, I tried to focus — really, I did. But I kept finding myself glancing back at her.

She was scribbling in the margins of her notebook. Not notes, not doodles. Just lines and circles and strange patterns. Like her thoughts didn’t fit into words.

I wanted to know what was in her head.

I didn’t understand it, not really.

But something about her made my whole world feel tilted.

Like I’d spent my whole life in the sun… and now I wanted to know what shadows felt like too.

---

After school, as I packed my bag, she passed by my desk without stopping.

But when she reached the door, she turned halfway.

"Thanks for lunch, Callie."

Then she walked away.

My name.

She said my name.

My cheeks burned all the way home.

That night, I couldn’t stop thinking.

About her voice. About how she said my name.

About how someone so quiet could take up so much space in my head.

I sat at my desk in my room, the soft glow of my lamp casting golden circles on my notebooks. Everything around me was in its usual place — color-coded folders, perfectly stacked pens, my framed schedule pinned on the wall like a declaration of order.

But my thoughts?

Total chaos.

I opened my journal — the one I only wrote in when my brain refused to shut up — and flipped to a blank page.

"Her name is Isabella Cruz," I wrote.

"She sits behind me now."

I paused. Chewed on my pen cap. Then kept going.

"She's cold. Not in a mean way. Just… distant. Like she lives on another planet. But today I gave her a musubi and she actually ate it. And then she called me Sunshine. That’s probably nothing. But it feels like something."

I sighed and closed the journal before I wrote something truly embarrassing, like “Her voice is oddly nice.”

---

Later that night, as I curled up in bed, I got a message from Ella, my best friend since fifth grade.

ELLA 🌻:

Dude. Who’s the girl you were talking to by the gym? 👀

I stared at my screen.

ME ☀️:

Just the new transfer student.

ELLA 🌻:

The scary one???

ME ☀️:

She’s not scary. Just quiet.

ELLA 🌻:

Quiet girls are always the most dangerous. Trust me. Remember Mariel from chem?

ME ☀️:

She only set the bunsen burner on fire ONCE.

ELLA 🌻:

And nearly your eyebrows LMAOOO.

I laughed into my pillow.

ELLA 🌻:

So are you gonna be her friend orrrr are we entering mysterious crush territory?

ME ☀️:

I don’t even know her yet.

ELLA 🌻:

You offered her your lunch. That’s basically romantic in teen drama logic.

I stared at the last message for a second too long.

Was this a crush?

I didn’t know. Not yet.

All I knew was that something about Isabella Cruz felt like the beginning of a chapter I hadn’t planned to write.

And suddenly, I wanted to know what came next.