One Last Touch

Chapter 1— The girl who didn't belong

Amira knew something was wrong the moment she stopped walking.

The school hallway buzzed with noise—lockers slamming, laughter echoing, footsteps rushing in every direction—yet she felt completely still, as if the world had decided to move on without her. She stood near the center of the hallway, fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag, her heartbeat uneven and unfamiliar.

She didn’t remember coming here.

The building looked ordinary enough: pale walls, bright lights, bulletin boards crowded with posters. But nothing stirred recognition. Not the rows of lockers. Not the classroom doors. Not even the sound of the bell ringing in the distance.

Amira swallowed.

“Okay,” she whispered under her breath. “Think.”

But her mind offered nothing. No memories. No sense of before.

Students brushed past her, some glancing her way. A few slowed, their expressions changing when they saw her—surprise, confusion, something close to fear. One girl froze mid-step, eyes widening before quickly turning away.

Amira’s chest tightened.

Why are they looking at me like that?

She stepped aside, pressing herself against the wall, suddenly aware of how out of place she felt. Her reflection stared back at her from the glass of a classroom door. The face was hers—she knew that much—but it felt distant, like she was looking at a stranger wearing her features.

“Amira.”

The sound of her name cut through the noise.

She turned.

A boy stood several feet away, staring at her like he had just seen something impossible. His hair was slightly messy, his uniform wrinkled, and his eyes—his eyes were red, as if he hadn’t slept in days.

He took a hesitant step toward her.

“Amira,” he said again, softer this time, like he was afraid she might vanish if he spoke too loudly.

“Yes?” she replied carefully. “Sorry… are you talking to me?”

The hope in his expression shattered.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his jaw tightened as if he were holding something back.

“It’s me,” he said finally, voice low. “Ash.”

The name echoed in her mind.

Nothing followed it.

“I’m sorry,” Amira said, guilt creeping into her voice. “I don’t remember.”

The hallway seemed to quiet around them, like the world was holding its breath.

Ash nodded slowly, as though he had prepared himself for this answer. A faint, broken smile appeared on his face.

“That’s okay,” he said. “You don’t have to.”