Night fell like velvet.
The courtyard had transformed.
Lanterns floated in the air—soft spheres of gold and pink and dusky lavender, drifting lazily above the garden paths like glowing petals caught in a breeze. The trellises we'd worked on were glowing now, silver-lilies blooming with quiet pride, their petals gently swaying in sync with the music that echoed from the distant fountain square.
Every inch of the academy seemed touched by magic—not the kind cast with a wand or incantation, but something quieter. Something born from effort, from memory, from the hands and hearts of everyone here.
This… was the first night of the celebration.
And I had never seen it so alive.
Students moved between booths and tables, laughter carried over the air, and a dozen small performances dotted the grounds—song, dance, illusions stitched with light. A music trio played near the stairs of the west wing. Someone passed me a paper fan shaped like a fox.
I wasn't even sure where to look.
Until I saw her.
Lillian stood near the center fountain, dressed in a soft gown of starlight silk—pastel pink tinged with silver thread that shimmered with every movement. Her hair was half pinned up with white flowers and falling ribbons, and her smile—gentle, bright, open—pulled the breath from my lungs.
She saw me.
And smiled wider.
The crowd parted like it understood.
I walked toward her slowly, and when we met beneath the lantern glow, she held out her hand. "Dance with me?"
I hesitated. "Right now? In the middle of everything?"
Her fingers laced through mine. "It wouldn't be the first time we made a scene."
I laughed softly. "That was your fault."
"And you loved it."
I couldn't argue that.
So I let her pull me into the open, her other hand settling at the curve of my waist, mine resting against her shoulder. The music shifted—soft violin and lilting wind instruments—and we moved.
Not perfectly. Not practiced.
But together.
She turned me gently, her gown sweeping the stones like the edge of a dream.
"I've never seen you this radiant," I said.
She leaned in, her voice brushing my ear. "I'm only like this when you're near."
My face flushed.
And for a moment, everything fell away. The crowd, the music, the fear.
Just me and her, spinning slowly beneath a canopy of floating lights.
When the song ended, the applause came from all around, but it felt like it didn't belong to us. She curtsied playfully. I bowed awkwardly.
And just like that, Lillian drifted away—called by a professor for something, her fingers lingering in mine until the last possible second.
Only then did I turn and see Diana leaning against a lamppost not far away, arms crossed, one brow lifted.
"Well," she said. "If this is how you treat your dance card, I'm starting to feel neglected."
I walked over, brushing hair from my face. "You don't even like dancing."
"True," she admitted. "But I like you."
The words settled on me like silk.
Before I could respond, Claire appeared—somehow wearing a half-formal, half-casual outfit that looked stolen from three different uniforms and one rebellious tailor. Her camera hung around her neck, and her eyes lit up when she saw me.
"There you are!" she said, slipping between me and Diana with zero hesitation. "I've been trying to find you for the last fifteen minutes. You missed Camille's scene!"
I blinked. "She already performed?"
"Short scene," Claire said. "But intense. I thought the audience was going to faint."
Diana smirked. "Let me guess. She gave them the full stare."
"Full stare and the whisper voice," Claire said. "People were swooning."
I couldn't help but laugh.
And then I felt it.
A presence behind me—cool, quiet, unmistakable.
Camille.
She stepped beside me like she had always been there, her white hair braided and woven with soft blue silk. Her dress shimmered with layered fabric, cascading like frost over snow.
"You missed it," she said softly.
"I'm sorry."
Her hand brushed mine. "You'll see the next one."
Behind her, I caught a glimpse of Tessa, lingering near the farthest archway, away from the bustle. Her eyes met mine—and she didn't smile, but she nodded once. Quiet recognition. Her version of a wave.
It was then, standing there in a loose circle of five girls—each of them so different, each of them looking at me like I was the reason this night mattered—that I felt it again.
That ache.
That soft, unbearable ache.
Because I loved them.
In ways I didn't always understand. In pieces that didn't fit neatly together.
And there wasn't enough time left.
So I did what I always did when I didn't know what else to do.
I smiled.
"Let's walk," I said. "All of us."
Claire blinked. "Together?"
Diana arched a brow. "Risky."
"Very risky," Camille murmured.
Tessa didn't speak.
But no one said no.
So we walked—me in the center, with Claire to my right and Camille just behind her. Lillian floated beside me on the left, her arm looped through mine, and Diana and Tessa followed just behind, quiet shadows.
Students whispered as we passed. Some stared.
Let them.
This was ours.
We reached the quiet hill near the astronomy wing—the one that overlooked the lake, far from the lanterns and the music.
The stars were brilliant now.
The kind of sky that made you want to say something meaningful.
So I did.
"I'm glad I came back," I said softly.
Claire kicked a pebble. "Took you long enough."
Lillian squeezed my arm. "We knew you would."
Camille tilted her head. "We just didn't know how long you'd stay."
They looked at me then.
All of them.
And I felt it again—that pull toward something I couldn't name.
"I don't have an answer," I whispered. "Not yet. But I'm here now."
"That's all we wanted," Diana said.
Tessa stepped forward, her voice low. "For now."
The wind rustled through the trees.
My heart ached.
Because I knew what was coming.
I would have to leave.
But not tonight.
Tonight… we still had stars.
After the laughter faded and the stars took their rightful place in the sky, everyone slowly drifted back toward the academy.
I lingered behind.
The others had already begun their quiet exits—Tessa had vanished like mist, her footsteps soundless as she slipped into the deeper shadows of the courtyard. Claire was dragging Diana toward the food tables again, swearing there were still macarons left. Camille had paused long enough to brush my fingers with hers, whispering, "Don't disappear yet," before heading toward the stage to help the drama club pack up.
And Lillian?
She looked at me once—just once—before turning away, her smile soft and knowing.
It was her way of saying: You'll come to me when you're ready.
And I would.
But not yet.
Right now, the night was mine.
I wandered past the glowing arches of the main square, through flower-strewn walkways and abandoned music stands. The air still shimmered with faint magic, like the celebration hadn't quite ended. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe I was just the last note waiting to fade.
My feet carried me—half conscious, half drifting—up the familiar path to the academy's old observatory tower. It wasn't used much anymore. The newer facilities were more modern, equipped with stronger enchantments and better lenses.
But this one?
This one still had dust on the railings. Still smelled of parchment and cold stone. Still held the memories of all the quiet nights I'd escaped here just to breathe.
I pushed open the wooden door.
And paused.
Because someone was already there.
Camille stood at the wide, circular window, her back to me. Her gown glowed faintly in the moonlight, hair unbraided now, cascading like a silver river down her back. She didn't turn when I stepped inside. She didn't need to.
"You followed me," I said quietly.
Her voice was low, calm. "No. I just knew where you'd go."
I came up beside her, resting my hands on the cool edge of the stone sill.
Below us, the festival flickered like a dying candle—only the faintest lights remaining, a few distant voices echoing from the gardens.
Above us, the stars stretched wide and silent.
"I hate that it's ending," I said.
"I know."
"I feel like I'm standing in the middle of something beautiful, and it's slipping through my fingers."
"You're not alone," she said.
I turned slightly. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
We stood like that for a long moment. Quiet. Still.
And then, Camille shifted.
She turned to me, and something in her expression—something usually hidden behind grace and restraint—cracked open.
"There's something I need to say," she whispered.
My breath caught.
"I never expected to fall for you," she said, voice trembling just slightly. "Not like this. Not in the way that makes it hurt. I thought I would admire you from afar. Play my part. Be the graceful one. The untouchable one. But somewhere along the way, you became… everything."
"Camille—"
"I'm not asking you to choose," she said quickly. "I couldn't. I wouldn't. I know you love them. All of us, in different ways. But I needed to say it. I needed you to know."
She stepped forward, slowly, until she was right in front of me.
"And if you walk away again," she murmured, "if you disappear after all this—just promise me one thing."
I nodded, barely able to breathe.
"Don't forget what we were. What this was."
And then she kissed me.
No hesitation.
No flirtation.
Just raw, quiet need.
I didn't realize how much I'd wanted it until my hands found her waist and pulled her closer, until I felt the way her breath hitched against my skin, until her fingers tangled in the back of my jacket like she was trying to memorize the shape of me.
When we broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
"I'm not good at letting go," she said.
"Neither am I," I whispered.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
"But if you must," she said softly, "let it be after one perfect moment."
"This wasn't perfect," I said. "It was real."
She smiled.
And then she stepped back, eyes glassy, breath shallow.
"Go," she said. "Find the others. Before the night is gone."
I nodded.
And then I ran.
Down the tower steps.
Through the empty hallways.
Out into the garden again.
The night was nearly over. Lanterns had begun drifting higher, fading like fireflies, as if the sky was reclaiming them one by one.
I found Claire on the rooftop.
She was lying flat on her back, arms stretched wide, jacket discarded beside her. She didn't flinch when I sat beside her. Just reached out and took my hand, lacing our fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I knew you'd come," she said.
And for once, she didn't fill the silence with noise.
She just held my hand.
I found Lillian in the greenhouse.
She wasn't planting or pruning this time. She was simply standing in the middle of it all, surrounded by blooms that glowed faintly in the moonlight.
When she saw me, she didn't speak.
She just opened her arms.
And I walked into them.
No explanations. No questions.
Only warmth.
I found Tessa by the lake.
She sat on a bench alone, her reflection rippling in the water beside her.
When I approached, she looked up. Her expression didn't change.
But when I sat beside her, she reached over and took my wrist—gently—and pressed her forehead to my shoulder.
No words.
Just the quiet thrum of understanding.
And Diana?
She was waiting in my room.
She always did know how to make an entrance.
She stood by the window, arms crossed, moonlight turning her hair to spun gold.
"You've been running all night," she said.
"I had to see them."
"I know."
I stepped closer.
She didn't move.
"I'm not ready," I said.
Her eyes softened. "You don't have to be."
"I don't know how to leave."
"You don't need to know," she said. "You just need to be brave enough to do it when the time comes."
And when she pulled me into her arms, it wasn't fierce.
It wasn't claiming.
It was safe.
And I finally let myself cry.
Not from sadness.
But from love.
From the sheer, unbearable weight of loving five people so differently, so deeply.
And knowing it would never be clean.
Never be perfect.
But it had been real.
And maybe, just maybe…
This was what mattered..