New Beginnings
Aria's POV
The sound of my alarm cut through the quiet house at exactly 6:30 a.m. I'm not a morning person though.
I groaned and reached out blindly, fingers flailing until I finally found my phone. I turned it off and flopped back onto my pillow, staring at the ceiling.
The room wasn’t empty exactly—it was just… unfamiliar.
A king-sized bed sat in the center, dressed in soft cream sheets and a slightly rumpled duvet, the kind that promised comfort even if sleep refused to cooperate. A padded headboard in a warm taupe leaned against the wall, with two small wooden side tables on either side. One held my phone, the other a simple lamp casting a faint golden glow that made the room feel less cold.
The walls weren’t plain white after all. In the morning light, they carried a soft muted sage tone—calm, gentle, almost grounding. It made the space feel warmer than I’d first noticed. Along one wall stood a built-in wardrobe, tall and seamless, its matte wooden panels blending perfectly with the room. When I’d opened it last night, it smelled faintly of fresh wood and new beginnings. Too new. Too untouched.
A door beside it led to the attached bathroom. I hadn’t really explored it yet, but I remembered pale marble tiles, brushed gold fixtures, and a large mirror that reflected more of me than I was ready to see. Clean. Modern. Quiet.
The walls held a few photo frames—carefully arranged, like someone had tried to make it feel like home. A framed landscape of mountains at sunset. A black-and-white photo of a forest trail. No people. No memories. Just placeholders for a life I hadn’t lived here yet.
A plush rug rested beneath my feet, soft against my toes when I shifted on the bed. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something woody—probably from the diffuser on the dresser.
It was comfortable. Thoughtfully put together.
And yet, as I lay there listening to the silence, it still felt like I was borrowing someone else’s idea of home.
Six months ago, I’d been waking up in London, England. Now I was in Florida, USA.
I pushed myself up slowly. Memories of London came rushing back before I could stop them.
Mom had died in a car accident. She had this way of making ordinary days feel magical—her laughter could fill the entire house, and she always knew the right words to make me feel brave. Even now, I could still remember the mornings we spent drinking cocoa, planning silly adventures, and sharing secrets only we understood.
After that, Dad couldn’t stay. Every street reminded him of her—every café, every little corner, every stray dog he’d wave at. So when he got a transfer to the States, we packed up and moved. Hoped it would help. But grief doesn’t care about oceans or cities.
I slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
My chestnut-brown hair fell in soft waves down my back, still messy from sleep. My hazel eyes, with little flecks of green, stared back at me. Tired, but… steady.
I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water run down my skin. For a moment, I just let myself exist. No London. No sadness. Just me.
After brushing my teeth, I tied my hair into a loose half-up style and got dressed.
A soft cream sweater that was a little too big. Dark blue jeans. White sneakers—probably too clean for a real school day.
Simple, Comfortable with light makeup.
Aria's Outfit
I went downstairs. The kitchen smelled like pancakes. Dad was flipping them, looking… lighter than he had in months.
“Morning, sunshine,” he said, smiling.
“Morning,” I said, sitting at the table.
He put a plate in front of me: fluffy pancakes with honey, scrambled eggs, and fresh strawberries. I smiled and took a bite. Warm. Sweet. Comforting.
“First day at School,” Dad said. “You’ll do great.”
“I hope so,” I murmured.
He ruffled my hair. “You always do. Just… try not to scare anyone too much.”
“I make no promises,” I grinned.
After breakfast, I grabbed my keys and stepped outside. The morning air was cool. Trees lined the streets, tall and dense, their branches swaying like they were watching me.
The drive was quiet. I let my thoughts wander. London felt like a dream now. Blackridge Falls felt like… a whole new world.
When I pulled into the parking lot of Silverpine High, my chest tightened.
The school was huge. Old brick walls. Wide stone steps. Huge windows. Beautiful. But also a little intimidating.
I got out of the car, backpack on my shoulder, and felt a chill run down my spine.
Don’t be ridiculous, I muttered to myself. It’s just a school.
I walked to the entrance. Students milled around in groups, laughing, talking, hugging. Some stared at me like I was an alien.
I resisted the urge to glare back. Instead, I walked tall, Bold, Confident, and Slightly sarcastic.
“Aria Collins,” I whispered to myself. “You got this. Just survive today.”
The bell rang. Sharp. Unforgiving.
I pushed open the door to my first class, English Literature, and scanned the room.
Groups of friends. People who looked like they had their own little world. And then… me. The new girl, standing out like a sore thumb.
I spotted a seat near the window—perfect. I slid in, smiling politely at anyone who glanced my way.
Sunlight hit my face. Not terrible. Maybe I could do this.
The teacher arrived, clapping her hands.
“Good morning, class. We have a new student today.”
Here it comes.
“Would you like to introduce yourself?”
I took a deep breath. “Hi, I’m Aria. I’m from London. And yes, my accent is real. Try not to judge.”
A few people chuckled.
“Welcome to Silverpine High,” the teacher said.
I sat down, feeling a little proud. Not bad for day one.
Class passed with a blur of poetry and essays. I took notes, nodded at the right moments, and even answered a couple of questions without making a fool of myself.
Finally, the bell rang.
“HEY!”
I jumped. Almost dropped my notebook.
I turned and saw a girl running toward me. Dark curls bouncing, bag slipping off her shoulder. She had bright brown eyes and a huge grin.
“You’re new!” she shouted.
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughed. “Yes, I've not seen you before. I’m Maya.”
“Aria,” I said, shaking her hand.
She smiled. “Nice to meet you! Okay, first things first—you need a guide. Silverpine is confusing as heck.”
“I’m up for the challenge,” I said.
Maya grabbed her bag and started walking.
“So, London! That’s so cool. Cold? Rainy? Tea every morning? Are you secretly royalty?”
I laughed. “No royalty. Just freezing a lot. And yes, tea.”
“You’re hilarious,” she said. “We’re going to be friends, I can tell already.”
Biology class went fast. She sat next to me immediately, leaning over to whisper commentary and making me laugh without even trying.
“That guy in the back?” she whispered. “Sleeps every class. I’m considering kidnapping him for fun.”
I snorted. “I respect the dedication.”
During lunch, she grabbed my hand and pulled me to a table near the windows.
“You’re sitting with me,” she said firmly. “New student privilege.”
“I see,” I said. “Does this privilege include endless talking?”
“Oh yes. Endless. Beware.”
She talked about everything: teachers, clubs, embarrassing stories, even which vending machines were cursed. Then she mentioned the twins casually.
“You’ll meet them eventually,” she said. “Everyone knows them. You’ll like them. And you’ll be friends too—don’t worry.”
“Twins?” I asked, intrigued.
“You’ll see,” she said, smiling. “No spoilers.”
She also mentioned her boyfriend, like it was no big deal. “That’s my boyfriend,” she said. “Sweet, overprotective, kind of ridiculous—but I adore him.”
“Sounds like trouble,” I teased.
“You have no idea,” she laughed.
By the end of the day, I felt exhausted. But lighter too.
At the front steps, Maya stretched. “You survived day one.”
“Barely,” I said. “But I made a friend, so I call that a win.”
“Definitely a win,” she said. “Tomorrow? More people. More fun. You’ll see.”
“I’m bracing myself,” I said.
She waved and ran off, leaving me smiling like a complete fool.
For the first time since we moved, I didn’t feel completely out of place.
Maybe this new start wouldn’t be so bad.
And maybe… just maybe… it could even be fun.
I drove home with the windows cracked open, letting the cool evening air rush in. My mind replayed the day in fragments—classrooms, laughter, Maya’s endless talking, the unfamiliar halls that already felt a little less intimidating.
When I pulled into the driveway, the porch light was already on.
Dad was home.
I stepped inside, kicking off my sneakers near the door. The familiar scent of home—clean laundry and something faintly garlicky—wrapped around me.
“You’re back,” Dad called from the kitchen.
“Barely survived,” I said, dropping my bag by the stairs.
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching me carefully. “So?” he asked. “How was your first day?”
I smiled despite myself. “It was… actually good.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Good?”
“Yeah,” I said, walking into the kitchen. “I met this girl—Maya. She’s loud, talkative, slightly unhinged, and decided we’re best friends within five minutes.”
Dad chuckled. “That sounds amazing.”
“She doesn’t stop talking,” I added. “Like, at all. She dragged me everywhere, explained everything, and made me laugh during biology when I definitely shouldn’t have.”
He smiled softly, relief flickering across his face. “I’m glad you weren’t alone.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “The school’s huge, but… it wasn’t as scary as I thought.”
We talked for a while—about classes, teachers, how my accent apparently made me a novelty. I told him about lunch, about Maya’s boyfriend, about surviving the first day without embarrassing myself too badly.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly.
That meant more than I let on.
I headed upstairs and changed into something more comfortable, then settled at my desk to finish homework. English wasn’t too bad—familiar, comforting in a strange way. Numbers blurred together a bit, but I pushed through.
Outside, the sky slowly darkened, evening creeping in.
“Dinner!” Dad called.
I went downstairs to find lasagna already on the table, steam rising from the dish.
“You remembered,” I said.
“Of course,” he replied. “Your favorite.”
We ate together, talking about nothing and everything. It felt… normal. Like the kind of night we used to have back in London, before everything changed.
After dinner, I hesitated, then asked, “Do you want to watch a movie? Like… old times?”
His face softened instantly. “I’d love that.”
We curled up on the couch with a random movie. I leaned against his shoulder, the way I used to when I was younger, and for a while, the world felt quiet and safe.
When the movie ended, exhaustion finally caught up to me.
“Goodnight, Dad,” I said, hugging him tightly.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Back in my room, I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed. The house was quiet, peaceful.
As I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts drifted back to the day—Maya’s laughter, the unfamiliar halls, the feeling of stepping into something new.
A new life.
A new beginning.
My eyes slowly closed, a small smile tugging at my lips.
Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad either.
And with that thought, I let sleep take me—carrying the echoes of a day that had changed more than I realized.
