EVERYTHING MATTERS

Grey like his car, green like his eyes.

Ailly stood at the school bus stop, her eyes lost in the void, immersed in deep reflection on the day that had just passed. It had been a day stranger than most, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Recent events with Matt loomed over her, creating a heavy atmosphere. The beverage stand had been the scene of a silent confrontation, where the unspoken words between them resonated louder than explicit threats. Matt had cast the shadow of impending hell, and Ailly knew she had to prepare for the worst.

A sigh escaped her lips, expressing resignation in the face of the complexity of the situation. The most challenging part was Matt's obvious pleasure in provoking her. Every word, every glance seemed calculated to make her falter, but Ailly was determined not to bend to this idiot.

Checking her phone, she found Jennie's latest message, advising her not to wait and informing her that she would ride home with Jun. The strangeness of the situation deepened. Between the turmoil with Matt and the sudden officialization of Jennie and Jun's relationship, Ailly felt caught in the midst of an emotional whirlwind.

The rain, announced by the darkened sky of Willowbrook, began to fall heavily, adding an element of misery to an already tumultuous day. The region's unpredictable climate never warned of its whims, and Ailly regretfully realized she had forgotten to bring her umbrella. She already imagined the state she would be in upon arriving at Unity House, in Melrose, half an hour from Emerald Heights, her academy. The rain would likely complicate the journey, prolonging its duration.

The wait for the bus, scheduled for 6 p.m., seemed to drag on. Ailly, accustomed to being the most diligent passenger of the bus, watched with frustration as the unusual delay persisted. Most Emerald Heights students preferred luxury cars or personal drivers, making the bus a seldom-chosen option. She wondered why the driver, Mr. Wilson, didn't reprimand the students who preferred other means of transportation. Perhaps he considered it better to have a few passengers than none at all, although for Ailly, it often meant being alone with him on the bus.

Her gaze wandering around, she noted that the stop, located inside the academy near the parking lot, was strangely deserted. Every evening, she observed the habits of the teachers leaving the premises. Mr. Ulrich always got into his car with pots of plants in hand, creating an enigmatic image. Miss Woods, on the other hand, invariably stayed on the phone in hers, concealing her conversations in the mystery of privacy. Mr. Ray, next to his Harley-Davidson motorcycle, raised his voice to reprimand a few students, threatening to deduct points for their mere admiration for his "baby." The scene added a dose of absurdity to Ailly's daily routine.

However, what caught Ailly's attention the most was the person sitting in their dark gray Mercedes-Benz. They sat there, apparently not waiting for anyone in particular. At least, that's what Ailly thought and observed. Instead, this person always took out a notepad that they read or contemplated before scribbling something. Ailly would have liked to know what it was. She always found them like this after classes, parked in the lot, staying in their car. She had started noticing them during the first week of school, ironically in the rain, when the bus was late for the umpteenth time.

Ailly was aware that her behavior was not correct, unabashedly indulging in spying. It was a kind of vice of which she was perfectly aware, but she couldn't help but watch. Her eyes wandered into the blonde color of their hair, lingering on their green eyes fixed on the notepad, on their glasses perfectly fitted to their nose, on the slight furrow of their brows, and on the small smile that delicately formed on their lips. Eventually, she knew by heart the little quirks they displayed every evening in their car.

However, on that particular evening, Ailly did not spot Mr. Ulrich with his usual pots of plants, only them getting into their car with a black umbrella. Neither Mr. Ray nor his Harley-Davidson were present in the parking lot. Maybe he hadn't brought his bike that evening. As for Miss Woods, as the supervisor of Language Week, she would be the last to leave, that was for sure. In that sense, Ailly didn't notice the person sitting in their dark gray Mercedes-Benz, consulting their notepad. She furrowed her brows. Where were they? This day was decidedly cursed, to the point of disrupting her small daily visual routine.