Chapter Two: The Boy Who Watched Her Burn

Two years ago.

Andras Cruz sat three rows behind her in the auditorium. Back then, he was smaller. Thinner. Still wearing glasses too big for his face, hiding behind oversized hoodies and his transfer papers. No one noticed him. He was just a blur in a crowd. A shadow with a lunchbox.

But she noticed.

Not directly. Not personally. But her presence was like smoke—filling every room, intoxicating, inescapable.

Sirenelle Qays was the loudest person in the room. Laughing too hard. Talking too fast. Sitting on desks. Flicking her black painted nails against water bottles while Mr. Joshi tried to keep the class from turning into a zoo.

Andras had never seen someone like her.

She was poisonously beautiful.

Not in a soft way. But the kind that hurts to look at.

She was dating Blaine Hart then—the golden boy gone rogue. Tattoos. Cigarettes. Rumors about stolen bikes and police warnings. But Sirenelle didn’t just love the fire—she was the fire.

She wasn’t scared of him. She led him.

And Andras? He watched from afar.

Day after day. Year after year.

Until she broke.

One morning she came to school without eyeliner. No loud steps. No laughter. Blaine was gone. Her desk stayed empty for three days. When she returned, she didn’t look at anyone. Not even her friends.

Andras still watched.

Only now he wasn’t watching the fire. He was watching the ashes.

---

Now.

Back in the nurse’s room, a knock tapped gently against the door.

“Cruz,” a voice said. “Someone’s here for you.”

He looked up, blood cleaned, bandage across his brow.

The nurse stepped aside.

And for a second—he hoped.

But it was just one of the juniors. A girl. Nervous. Carrying his shattered glasses.

He took them with a nod.

But he was already thinking of something else.

Not the pain. Not the wound.

Her shoes.

Her white, perfect shoes.

Still stained with his blood.

And that meant a piece of him was with her now. Whether she liked it or not.

And this time? He wouldn’t be just a shadow.

He’d make sure she remembered.

---

The next day.

The school cafeteria was buzzing, plastic trays clattering, gossip flying like bees in a jar. But the moment Andras walked in—tall, bruised, unreadable—the air shifted.

Sirenelle felt it before she saw him.

His presence was louder now.

He didn’t wear his hoodie. Didn’t slouch. His hair was slicked back, revealing the thin cut stitched above his brow. Sharp jaw, darker eyes. The kind of face you don’t forget once it looks directly at you.

And it did.

He walked straight past his usual table. Past the other juniors. And stopped at hers.

The one she shared with her new circle. The softer friends. The calmer ones. The version of her that didn’t pick fights or break hearts.

She looked up, confused.

He dropped something on her tray.

Her pen.

The one she dropped near the staircase yesterday.

“I think this belongs to you,” he said, tone casual, eyes anything but.

Sirenelle blinked.

One of her friends giggled. Another whispered something.

Andras didn’t care.

He leaned down slightly, voice low.