When the bell rang, the cafeteria began to dissolve into scattered footsteps, laughter, and trays clattering back into bins. One by one, the girls excused themselves with soft smiles, their voices carrying warmth that never quite reached him. "See you later," one whispered, her tone hopeful. Another brushed her hair back, glancing at him twice before following the others out. Then there was silence. Gael remained at the table, his tray half-finished, hands resting neatly at his sides. The empty chairs around him were still warm from where they had been sitting, faint impressions pressed into the plastic seats like echoes of presence. But echoes, he realized, fade quickly. To him, it didn't matter if the table was crowded or bare. The absence of feeling rendered the room no different than it had been before. He traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip, listening to the dull ring it made, and thought only of how long until his next class. Around him, other tables emptied. Conversations trailed away. The cafeteria, once buzzing, seemed to dim in volume until Gael was just another unmoving figure in the wide room. He didn't notice the way others still glanced at him—the way certain eyes lingered, curious, puzzled, or admiring. He only noticed the silence. And in that silence, something invisible coiled itself tighter: threads pulling, weaving, waiting.
The cafeteria doors closed behind him with a hollow thud, sealing away the scent of warm bread and chatter that clung to the air. Gael's footsteps carried him down the corridor, steady, almost too measured for someone his age. The halls were thinning now, only a few stragglers lingering by lockers, their laughter bouncing in sharp contrast against the tiled floor. He walked alone. Students moved in clusters, brushing past him in bursts of perfume, deodorant, and teenage noise. Gael didn't flinch when shoulders knocked near his own or when a backpack strap nearly grazed his arm. It was as if he existed in a parallel space—present, visible, yet untouched. Still, eyes followed him. A pair of sophomores whispered as he passed, one nudging the other with a stifled laugh that wasn't cruel, but puzzled. Another girl, leaning against her locker, let her gaze linger longer than she should have, eyes catching on his ocean-blue stare that never truly landed on her. They didn't know what it was about him—his quiet composure, his almost statuesque stillness—but something about Gael drew them in. He didn't notice. Instead, he counted the rhythm of his steps. Each one was even, the same, neither fast nor slow. To him, it was only about reaching the next class, the next seat, the next hour gone. But to the others, his stillness was magnetic. A presence too quiet to ignore. When he reached the end of the hall, the bell shrieked overhead, scattering students into doorways. Gael followed suit, his pace unbroken, his gaze steady. Somewhere, unseen threads tugged tighter.
The door to his last class creaked open, and Gael stepped inside. The chatter of students already in their seats barely brushed against him—muffled, distant, as though he were hearing it from behind glass. He moved to the far side of the room, choosing a desk by the window. Light streamed in across his hands as he set his books down, the weight of them quiet and familiar. The classroom buzzed with small talk. Chairs scraped, pens tapped, someone laughed too loudly at a joke Gael didn't catch. He didn't search for meaning in any of it. He just stared at the faint reflection of himself in the glass pane beside him. His eyes—blue, unblinking—met his own, and for a moment it felt as though the reflection belonged to someone else.
"Alright, settle down," the teacher's voice cut through the noise. It was a woman in her late forties, her tone sharp but not unkind. Students shuffled into their seats. Gael did the same, slow, precise. "We're starting something new today," she said, stacking papers on her desk. "A group project. Seven people per group. You'll be working together for the next few weeks, so choose wisely." The room came alive again—groans, murmurs, a burst of energy that swirled between desks. Friends clumped together instantly, chairs dragged closer in a messy chorus. Gael sat still. He didn't shift, didn't move toward anyone. He hadn't even thought about who he might join. His mind didn't fill with the usual urgency that gripped the room—the worry of being left out, the relief of being chosen. He simply waited. And as the noise grew, the reflection in the glass held his gaze, faint and motionless, a boy adrift in a room filled with movement.
Chairs scraped against the floor as students rushed to claim their partners. Laughter, groans, and quick whispers bounced around the room, but Gael stayed seated by the window, quiet as stone. Across the room, the six girls who had been watching him since lunch found each other almost instinctively. Marak leaned in first, her voice low, a hint of amusement hidden beneath her seriousness. "He's not moving," she whispered, tilting her chin toward Gael. "Just like lunch." Iris followed her gaze, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Maybe he's waiting for someone to ask him. He doesn't look… like he's going to." Selene, perched casually on the edge of a desk, smirked. "Then maybe we should just take him. Better than fighting over him later." Vivienne rolled her eyes with a soft laugh. "You make it sound like he's some prize to win." Calla's tone was softer, thoughtful. "He didn't eat much earlier. Maybe he doesn't want to bother anyone. It… kind of makes me feel bad."
Naomi crossed her arms, but there was a restless energy in her voice. "Well, I'm not letting him end up with some randoms. If we're six, he'll make us seven. Done deal." There was no real argument. The decision fell into place as naturally as gravity. All six turned their heads, eyes locking onto the boy by the window. He hadn't looked up once, hadn't noticed their whispers, or maybe he had and simply didn't care. Mara stood first, brushing her skirt down with a flick of her hand. "Come on," she said, and the others followed, forming a quiet procession across the classroom. When they stopped at his desk, Gael finally looked up. His ocean-blue eyes caught theirs one by one, clear and unreadable. Naomi broke the silence first, leaning on his desk just slightly. "You're with us," she said, not really asking. There was no hesitation in Gael's answer, his voice soft, so unexpectedly gentle that all six stilled at the sound of it. "Alright." The single word was enough. He gathered his books neatly, standing with that same composed, unhurried grace. He didn't know it, but every small movement—quiet, deliberate, detached—made the girls' decision feel even more right. And when he joined their circle of six, they felt it immediately: the strange, silent pull of the boy who didn't ask to belong, but who made them want him to.
The teacher's voice cut through the restless chatter. "Remember, this project will count for thirty percent of your grade. Groups of seven should divide tasks evenly and start planning now. You'll have two weeks. Work outside class will be expected."The girls clustered tighter around Gael's desk, already forming a protective ring. For a moment, it felt like he was the center of a constellation—six pairs of voices orbiting around him. "Alright, who's house?" Iris asked, her tone already assuming that no one would question the arrangement. "My place has space," Vivienne offered, tapping her pen against her notebook. "And my mom won't mind." Naomi shook her head. "Too far. Calla's house is closer, and she always has snacks." Selene laughed. "That's true. You can't argue with snacks." Calla flushed faintly but nodded. "It's fine. My parents are usually busy. We can meet there."
Mara glanced sideways at Gael, who sat quietly, hands folded on the desk, expression still unreadable. "You're fine with that?" she asked, as if his approval mattered more than anyone else's. Gael's eyes lifted from the grain of the wood, calm, steady. "Yes," he said simply. The single word carried the same softness as before, and again, it struck all six of them at once. He hadn't argued, hadn't bargained, hadn't even seemed to weigh it. Just an easy acceptance that made their own voices stumble for a moment. The bell rang, and the classroom burst into motion—papers shuffled, chairs scraped, laughter and footsteps spilling into the hallways. But in the noise, Gael's group of seven lingered, sealing their unspoken pact. "Later, after school," Naomi said, decisive. "We'll go together. Gael, you're coming with us." He nodded once, the gesture polite but distant. It was enough for them. As the girls filed out, chatting over one another, their eyes kept flicking back at him—curious, warm, a little uncertain. Gael followed in silence, walking just a step behind. For him, the day had been no different from any other: classes, instructions, obligations to be carried out. But for them, something had shifted. The boy who sat alone at lunch, who spoke in a voice too soft for his face, who moved with a quiet, unknowing grace—he was theirs now, at least in the way they had claimed him. And tomorrow, in the comfort of one of their homes, the threads tying them together would begin to pull tighter.