"Now what?"
I stood there, frozen, as if time itself was holding its breath with me. Every muscle in my body screamed for action, but I just... couldn't move. The words—so clear in my mind when I was running toward her—had vanished, swallowed by the crushing silence that stretched between us.
I felt like a lovesick boy, a fool who'd finally worked up the nerve to face the girl he liked, only to be struck dumb the moment she stood in front of him. Like all that boldness had just been adrenaline playing tricks on me. A stage act that collapsed the instant her eyes locked onto mine.
And what eyes they were.
Beatriz was staring at me—but not like before.
Those strange eyes of hers cut through me like silent blades. There was something inhuman about them. Cold. Distant. A steady presence, like an ancient stone wall.
She scanned me from head to toe, her expression unchanging, except for the flicker of surprise that quickly vanished.
I swallowed hard. My chest tightened.
My throat clenched with a knot too thick to untie. It was unbearable. Humiliating. Like standing naked before a merciless jury. And yet, some part of me—a stupid, needy, vulnerable part—still wanted her to say something. Anything. A word. A critique. Even an insult.
But she said nothing. And that was worse.
"This is what happens when I act without thinking…" I cursed silently, teeth clenched.
✦ ✦ ✦
One minute earlier.
I didn't think. I just went. My eyes met Beatriz's, and in a flash of impulse, my body moved before my mind could stop it. In a reckless leap of courage—or madness, maybe both—I threw myself out of the library window.
The cold afternoon wind sliced across my face. The world tilted for a heartbeat as gravity yanked me downward. Only then did the realization hit me:
"Shit... third floor."
— "Breeze," — I muttered in a rush, casting the spell at the last second.
Air thickened around me. A soft explosion of wind countered my fall, lifting me into a swirling current. Leaves scattered in a lazy spiral below, like nature itself had paused to witness my foolish stunt.
I landed with a dull thud, knees bent, left hand pressing against the stone to steady myself. The echo of my shoes rang across the empty courtyard, dust rising in a faint swirl around me.
I stood slowly, adjusting my clothes and trying to steady my ragged breath. My heart pounded in my chest—from nerves, from adrenaline… or maybe something else. My eyes stayed locked on her.
✦ ✦ ✦
Now.
Beatriz… there she was. Just a few steps away, standing as if she'd been waiting for me all along. Her black hair tied back in a flawless bun, posture sharp like the edge of a blade, twin wooden kattares strapped to her back.
But none of that hit me as hard as her gaze. It was different. Colder. The same mismatched eyes—one gold, the other red—now stared at me with a hollow, impenetrable look. No surprise. No anger. No warmth.
She looked at me like I was a stranger.
I froze. The momentum that launched me out the window vanished in a blink. My palms went clammy, my chest squeezed tight, like I was facing down a wild beast.
'Now what?' I thought, paralyzed.
It all feels ridiculous now. A boy throwing himself out a window to confront a girl... only to find he can't say a single thing once she turns to face him.
Her gaze dissected me, cold and calculated. Every second of silence between us felt like a verdict. A trial.
'This is what happens when I act without thinking…' I cursed myself again.
I tried to swallow. My mouth opened... nothing came out.
She was still there. Motionless. As still as a statue carved from ice, her eyes blazing in cruel contrast to her frigid presence.
And then—whether by luck or misfortune—she moved first.
Beatriz said nothing.
She tilted her head slightly, like someone studying an incomplete equation or an experiment producing an unexpected result.
Her eyes didn't waver. They stayed locked on me—precise, like sensors narrowing in on a target.
She stepped forward, maintaining her upright posture, chin lifted, gaze steady. She moved like a perfectly tuned machine, aware of every fraction of her body.
And then, at last, she spoke.
Her voice came out low, but clear. No trace of anger. No warmth. No uncertainty.
Just… processing.
"You jumped out the window."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement—blunt, dry, and absolute, like a system reading back confirmed data.
The window.
"Ah..."
My eyes flicked sideways, to the now distant and silent third floor. My voice came out soft, hesitant—a whisper trying too hard to sound casual.
"Yeah… yeah. I did. I did jump."
Beatriz remained perfectly still. A statue made of flesh and calculation. But something shifted—just barely. The faintest flicker in her brows, like her inner logic had hit a reading error.
"There are doors. Why did you jump from the window?"
There was no judgment in her question. No irony. No humor. Just pure confusion. As if my decision didn't compute.
"Because…" I began, but the sentence died before it even formed. My mouth worked, searching for sense, but my brain had gone blank.
"I just… I thought it would get me to you faster," I said. It wasn't really an explanation. More a stray confession, mumbled into the void.
She tilted her head the other way now, like a mechanical owl re-centering its axis.
"Get to me?" she repeated. And this time… something cracked.
The crease between her brows deepened. It wasn't anger. Or fear. Just confusion. Raw, unfiltered, and almost—almost—human.
"Faster?" she echoed, more to herself than to me. A pause. "Why?"
Silence swallowed me whole.
'Say something. Anything. NOW!' my mind screamed. But all that came out was the shattered remnant of my dignity, disguised as truth.
"My body just… moved first, so…" I waved vaguely, as if that somehow clarified things. "I don't know either."
Her expression twisted. Actually twisted. The confusion on her face intensified like I'd just triggered a fatal error in her code. She wasn't trying to understand the world anymore—she was facing a logic fault she couldn't debug.
'Good job, Alexander. You officially look like a malfunctioning idiot,' I screamed inwardly.
And of course, she kept staring at me. Like she was still trying to figure out if I was a threat… or just a walking glitch.
"Wait, hang on—it's not what it looks like," I started.
' It's exactly what it looks like.'
I felt like I had stripped my soul naked in public. My face burned. Every muscle tightened, cringing under the weight of shame.
I took a breath. Then another. Closed my eyes for a beat, trying to center myself.
'Come on, Alexander. You've faced monsters. You've run for your life. You've survived worse than a nine to ten-year-old girl looking at you like you're a corrupted file.'
"Alright…" I murmured, forcing a casual tone, lifting my eyes back to meet hers.
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
"I know it seems weird…" I began, hands moving as if sculpting words out of fragile blocks of reason. "But… I saw you. Alone. And I wanted to talk to you before you left. The window was faster. I just… didn't think it through."
Nothing.
She didn't even frown. Just kept staring at me like she was watching some animal try to speak for the first time.
"It was an impulse, okay? Like… an emotional one. Not rational. I…" I hesitated, the weight of the words hitting before I could stop them, "I just wanted to see you."
There it was. Out in the open. Clear. Bare.
Part of me wanted to dig a hole right then and vanish through to the other side of the world.
The other part… felt oddly relieved.
At least I'd said it.
She blinked. Once. Then, with the faintest tilt of her head, barely noticeable, she murmured:
"You threw yourself out a window… on impulse?"
"Well… technically, I used magic to soften the fall," I added quickly, as if that somehow made the whole thing sound less insane.
She lifted her chin slightly, blinking again. It looked like she was… processing. Cataloging. Deciding whether it was even worth replying.
And I stood there, half-slung, dusty cloak still clinging to me, pride scattered on the ground, trying to look more put together than I felt.
"Magic…" she muttered under her breath, almost to herself rather than to me. "You can use magic?"
There it was. Subtle. Almost imperceptible—but real. The rigid mask on her face shifted, just a touch. Not warmth, exactly. But… curiosity. Genuine. A flicker, like I'd just turned into a rare book she hadn't expected to find.
'Thank the stars, the worst part's over', I exhaled inwardly, tension rolling off my shoulders like someone had lifted a boulder.
"Limited to basic magic, but yes, I can," I said with a little more conviction, straightening up, as if stating it to her somehow reaffirmed it to myself.
I slowly raised my index finger between us. A simple gesture—but full of intention.
Even with the energy already buzzing under my skin like a live current, I waited a few seconds. Took a deep breath, as though centering myself. Shifted my footing just slightly. The air between us thickened, pregnant with focus.
— "Flame." — I spoke the word clearly.
A spark burst to life at the tip of my finger—small and quick, flickering like the flame of a lone candle in the dark.
It grew, gently, forming with grace: a soft, orange flame, alive, quivering with a subtle intensity, as if it had a mind of its own.
Not spectacular. But it didn't need to be.
The yellow glow reflected in Beatriz's eyes. And for a split second—swear to it—I saw her pupils dilate. A tiny reaction, nearly invisible, but just enough to tell me: for the first time, she was genuinely intrigued.
Silence settled. A moment caught in limbo. I watched, transfixed, as the flame danced in her eyes—and as the once-stony mask on her face cracked just slightly, letting something almost human slip through.
But just before I could lose myself in that change, a voice sliced through the air like a blade.
"Beatriz, I must say I'm impressed. A small victory was enough to make you so cocky that now your instructor has to come looking for you?"
I turned on instinct, snuffing the flame out with a light snap of my fingers. The sound disappeared instantly, swallowed by the weight of Kyle's presence as he approached with long, precise steps. No armor today—just simple clothes. Which only made him feel more disconcerting.
Beatriz didn't flinch. She stepped forward slightly and replied in her usual voice—calm, clipped, emotionless:
"Ah. My apologies. I have a prior engagement. We can continue this… later."
She walked past me, arms barely swaying at her sides, posture razor-straight like a soldier in motion. I tried to say something, stumbling over the words:
"No problem. Really, I should be the one apologiz—"
But she turned mid-step, already just a few feet from Kyle, cutting me off with surgical precision:
"And please, use the door next time. My father says we should respect the purpose of everything… and everyone."
Her voice wasn't harsh—just precise. Factual.
That sentence hit me harder than the fall from the third floor.
I stood there, rooted in place, embarrassed. And yet… oddly alert. Awakened, somehow.
Beatriz gave Kyle a polite nod and walked away beside him. Her small, rigid figure gradually disappeared down the street, each step echoing with the faint clink of boots on stone.
I was alone again.
The wind still blew—light and cold. I glanced up for a moment, back toward the window I'd leapt from just minutes earlier.
I smiled to myself, not even sure why.
"Respect the purpose of everything, huh?" I murmured, mostly to myself, as I watched the door quietly shut behind her. The breeze still whispered in through the open window behind me.
And then it hit me—a sudden, late realization: "Ah! I didn't even get to ask her!"
A sigh escaped my lips, tired and tinged with frustration. "Is talking to a nine- or ten-year-old girl always this exhausting?"
I turned on my heel, ready to head back to the library, already longing for the stillness between the shelves…
But then—clack!
An arm landed across my shoulders like a fishing hook snagging its catch. My instincts tensed before I could even register what was happening.
"Dude… you are incredible!"