Invisible Strings

Chapter 6: The Weight of a Whisper

Hannah woke to the soft light spilling across her dorm room, her journal sitting exactly where she'd left it on the desk. For a moment, she just laid there, watching the way the cover caught the morning sun. It still felt strange... It felt so hers. A gift. She wasn't used to people noticing what she wanted, much less giving it freely.

She sat up slowly, pulling the journal into her lap. Her fingers traced the edges before she flipped it open, skimming pages she gave Isadora insight to. The silence of her room pressed in, but instead of suffocating, it felt... almost safe. She found herself humming under her breath, the same half-formed melody she'd played for Isadora days before. As if the melody was living in her chest like a worm in an apple. Safe...?

She grabbed a pencil and started scribbling, not notes, not words, just shapes and scratches on the paper. Anything to keep from thinking too hard about last night. About the way Isadora's hand had felt against hers. About the way her voice had softened when she said she wasn't going to leave.

Hannah shook her head, snapping the journal shut. She's my teacher. She couldn't let herself think about it. People didn't stay. They never did. And this feeling felt so unusual compared to anything she's ever felt before.

By the time she made it to her class, she was quieter than usual. If that was even possible. She slid into her seat at the back, pulling out her journal again instead of paying attention. Her pencil tapped against the margin, sketching fragments of a melody.

Isadroa noticed but focused on teaching the class, even though her caramel eyes couldn't help from glancing at her in the back every so often.

"Writing love letters, Dearing?" a voice teased from the row ahead, half-laughing.

Heat rushed to her face. The shimmer started before she could stop it, her outline blurring.

And that was when she noticed. Isadora was at the front of the room, watching. Not with pity. Not with annoyance. But with that same steady, grounding presence as always. She saw her throat swallow and step forward to insert herself into what seemed to be Hannah being picked on once again.

The whisper of laughter from the row ahead hit Hannah sharper than it should have. Love letters. The words curled inside her chest like barbed wire. She tightened her grip on the journal, wishing she could melt into the desk, wishing she could be invisible without shimmering away.

"Hey," the girl said again, twisting in her seat. "Who's it for, huh? You blush like that every time you're writing in it."

The heat in Hannah's cheeks deepened, her outline threatening to slip away. But then, something caught. A memory of a soft voice, steady and certain: I'm not leaving you, Hannah. You're stuck with me.

Hannah's breath wavered. She straightened, not much, but enough to surprise herself. "It's not for anyone," she said quietly, her voice more steady than she felt. "And even if it was... it wouldn't be your business."

The girl blinked at her, taken aback for half a beat before scoffing, rolling her eyes. "Whatever."

Behind them, Isadora's footsteps echoed, calm but clipped. She had been walking the rows, but now she stopped, just a few feet from the exchange. "Is there a problem here?"

The girl stiffened, muttering, "No, Ms. Capri," before turning back around in her seat, suddenly very interested in her notes.

Isadora lingered for a second longer, her eyes flicking toward Hannah. Shock softened into something else... Something close to pride.

The rest of class blurred past Hannah in fragments she could barely hold onto. Her pulse was still loud in her ears, her fingers worrying at the edges of her journal. She hadn't vanished. She had spoken. The thought made her chest tighten... not with pride, but with the heavy ache of being seen.