“Just a moment.”
Soren pushed himself up and crossed to the door.
He flicked the lock open and eased it ajar.
Afternoon sunlight poured through the window directly across from the entrance, falling warm across his face.
He squinted against the sudden brightness, studying the unexpected visitor who definitely hadn’t been on any schedule.
Through the blur, his heart lurched.
His left hand slipped behind his back, fingers closing around his wand.
Instinct, not fear.
Just surprise.
For one reckless instant, he thought he was looking at an angel, bathed in golden light, descended upon his threshold.
She was beautiful in a way that felt almost unfair.
Pure.
Carrying both a child’s unspoiled innocence and the first stirring of something deeper, something poetic.
Those deep blue eyes paired perfectly with her delicate features, so lovely she hardly seemed real.
Not a biblical angel, of course.
He recognized her.
Her name left his lips before he could think.
“…Ayla?”
“Mm.”
The girl stood in the corridor, nervousness written across her features, voice barely above a whisper.
Her gaze traced over his face in return.
The slightly narrowed eyes.
The handsome brows.
The corners of his mouth that curled upward even when he wasn’t smiling.
That lazy, cat-like quality he carried without trying.
She stared a beat too long, then jerked her eyes away as if burned.
“It’s…
it’s me.”
Ayla couldn’t fully explain why she’d come.
She simply couldn’t stop herself.
Following the gossip that circulated among the children, she’d tracked down his new room in a daze.
One question burned inside her, and she needed the answer no matter what.
“Soren…
I heard…” She stumbled over the words, fragments spilling out between pauses.
“That you…
got adopted.
Are you moving away?”
“Huh?”
Soren blinked.
“Where’d you hear that nonsense?
This is news to me.”
“What!?
B-but everyone’s saying so!”
Her voice climbed before she could stop it.
The heavy weight in her chest lifted all at once, replaced by a giddy lightness.
She tried to steady her breathing.
Then another rumor surfaced, one that had spread just as widely among the kids.
“Then…
are you in confinement?
They even have the staff bring meals to your door.
Ah, you’re not sick, are you?
Is it serious?
Are you taking your medicine?”
The barrage of questions left him reeling.
A beat passed before he found his voice, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
“I haven’t stepped outside for a few days and the whole place invents a soap opera.
Relax.
I’m not adopted, not confined, and perfectly healthy.
I’m just studying hard before term starts.
Planning to keep my streak as number one at the new school.”
“Oh…
is that so…”
A long breath escaped her.
Then color flooded her cheeks, and every word she’d prepared vanished from her mind.
It had all been a misunderstanding.
She’d convinced herself she’d never see him again, and that desperation had dragged her here.
Now she had no idea how to gracefully exit the situation.
The courage born of misunderstanding drained away, leaving her acutely aware of the heat in her face.
She couldn’t bring herself to look up.
Soren had noticed every flutter of her shyness and indecision.
He wasn’t truly a “little boy.” And this was Great Britain, where attitudes ran a good deal more open than some places.
He understood exactly what was happening.
A girl with her first crush.
Perfectly natural.
Western kids tended to mature faster, both physically and emotionally, and Ayla was right at that age where everything started to bloom.
Besides, he’d long suspected that his own relentless excellence set him apart from everyone else.
He stood out, whether he wanted to or not.
He let himself enjoy her flustered state a moment longer, an idea taking shape.
If he was being honest, he had a weakness for pretty faces.
That had been part of the reason he’d approached Ayla in the first place.
Now she’d delivered herself to his door.
Pushing her away would be idiotic.
In that case…
“Thanks for checking on me.
Since you’re already here, want to come in?”
With practiced ease, he slipped the wand out of sight and stepped aside.
His right hand swept outward in an elegant gesture of invitation.
“Eh?”
The invitation caught her off guard.
Hesitation flickered across her face.
But her feet seemed to operate on their own authority.
Before her brain issued any command, they carried her forward across the threshold.
As she passed him, the closeness brought a faint sweetness from her hair, citrus mingled with something warmer, uniquely hers.
He glanced down.
Her slender form drifted past in a graceful silhouette that lingered behind his eyes.
People in his previous life liked to say clothes made the man.
Soren now thought that was only half true.
A genuinely beautiful person could wear a plain white sundress, not a trace of makeup, and still stop hearts.
Private space secured.
Meanwhile, Ayla recovered enough presence of mind to look around his room, temporarily forgetting to scold her traitorous feet.
It wasn’t large, maybe twenty square meters, furnished with a spartan simplicity.
A single bed with the blanket folded into crisp corners, the bedsheet pulled taut and smooth.
A desk and a worn armchair stood near the window.
The curtains were drawn now, blocking the fierce summer heat.
Soren’s belongings clustered around the desk area.
A bookcase stocked with texts, and a few unopened packages stacked in one corner.
The room matched her mental image of him perfectly.
Clean.
Efficient.
Everything in its place.
Her survey complete, Ayla turned back around, searching for words and coming up empty.
Soren gestured toward the room’s only chair.
“Wasn’t expecting company, so I don’t have a spare.
Go ahead and take that one.”
“…What about you?”
“Me?
I’ll sit on the bed.
Don’t be so formal.”
He had no intention of mentioning the folding chair tucked in the closet.
That would kill the atmosphere, and comfortable conversation required a certain closeness.
Seeing her hesitate, he offered an alternative.
“Or we can swap.
I’ll take the chair?”
“Ah!
N-no, this is fine…”
She shot down that slightly improper suggestion in a hurry.
Given only two options, she chose the chair.
They settled into their seats, roughly two meters of space between them.
Close enough to feel connected, far enough to breathe.
After the emotional rollercoaster of the past few minutes, Ayla managed to regain some composure.
She brought up recent orphanage gossip as a lifeline, something to anchor the conversation and steady her nerves.
Soren smiled and played the perfect listener, offering responses at just the right moments.
They’d always been good friends.
As the conversation found its rhythm, the delicate tension between them softened and began to dissolve.
Convinced he hadn’t noticed her strange behavior, Ayla’s anxiety finally released its grip.
Her fingers loosened their death hold on the hem of her dress.
Something of her usual calm returned.
As they talked, her gaze drifted across his desk, searching the spines of his textbooks for a school name.
If she could manage it, she wanted to follow him to the same secondary school, maybe even university.
Though her grades compared to his perfect scores felt hopeless…
Then something on the desk made her pause.
Gold lettering caught the lamplight on a book spine, the title printed in plain English: Magical Theory, by Adalbert Waffling.
“…”
Magical Theory?
She knew every one of those English words.
Strung together, they made absolutely no sense.
What on earth was Soren reading?