Something About Kale

The second morning in this world felt quieter somehow.

Not easier. Just less unreal.

I woke before the alarm this time, staring at the ceiling while early sunlight slipped through the curtains in pale strips. The apartment was still half asleep around me. Somewhere nearby, water boiled softly in the kitchen while the little girl mumbled incoherently in her sleep beside me.

For a few moments, I stayed still, letting the reality settle properly.

This wasn't temporary.

That thought no longer felt dramatic. It felt factual.

Yesterday, a part of me still expected my father to appear somehow. Maybe furious. Maybe annoyed. But present. I kept thinking there would be some explanation waiting for me at the end of the day.

There wasn't.

Nobody came.

No messages appeared.

No missing person reports flooded the news.

This world had its own Aria, its own history, its own people who knew me.

Or thought they did.

I sat up slowly, pressing my fingers against my temple. The memories still came in flashes sometimes. Small things. Random things. A classroom. A notebook. Rain outside campus gates.

The original Aria's life lingered in pieces inside my head like leftover echoes.

It was unsettling.

More unsettling was how normal everyone else acted.

The woman smiled gently when I entered the kitchen. "You're awake earlier today."

"I'm adapting to tragedy," I replied while reaching for a cup.

She laughed softly under her breath before handing me tea.

I watched her quietly for a moment.

There was something strange about being cared for by people who technically weren't mine. They spoke to me naturally, casually, like they'd known me forever.

Meanwhile, I still felt like I was standing in someone else's place.

—

The bus arrived at exactly 7:10.

Apparently poor people transportation valued punctuality more than emotional wellbeing.

I climbed aboard with my bag hanging off one shoulder and immediately noticed the familiar atmosphere from yesterday. Half-asleep students. Loud conversations near the back. Music leaking from headphones.

And Kale.

He sat near the window this time instead of the back corner, one arm resting lazily against the seat while scrolling through his phone. Morning light filtered through the glass beside him, catching against the sharp lines of his face.

Annoyingly attractive people truly had unfair advantages in life.

I noticed details more carefully today.

The faint scar near his jaw.

Dark hair falling slightly over tired eyes.

Long fingers tapping absently against the phone screen.

There was something cold about him, but not in an effortless way. More like someone who learned early not to show too much.

The kind of face people probably misunderstood often.

Unfortunately for him, I liked observing people.

The bus jerked slightly as it started moving, and Kale looked up briefly.

Our eyes met for a second before he nodded toward the empty seat beside him.

I hesitated.

Not because I was nervous.

Because this felt weird.

Yesterday this boy clearly disliked me. Not jokingly. Not secretly. He genuinely seemed irritated by my existence.

Yet now he was voluntarily asking me to sit beside him.

Suspicious behavior.

Still, curiosity won.

I walked over and sat down beside the window.

Neither of us spoke immediately.

The city blurred outside while students talked around us, their voices blending into soft background noise. Kale slipped his phone into his pocket before glancing toward me briefly.

"You slept?" he asked.

The question caught me slightly off guard.

"Barely," I admitted.

He nodded once like that confirmed something.

I studied him carefully. "You keep looking at me like you're trying to solve a crime."

"Maybe I am."

"That's comforting."

Kale leaned back slightly against the seat. "You really don't remember anything strange?"

I frowned faintly.

"What kind of strange?"

"About yesterday. Or before yesterday."

His tone remained casual, but there was something underneath it. Something too focused.

I looked away toward the window again.

The honest answer sat heavily in my chest.

Purple light.

A voice whispering shift.

The feeling of falling.

But saying that aloud sounded insane even to me.

"I remember enough," I said quietly.

Kale watched me for a moment longer. "No. You don't."

The certainty in his voice made me turn toward him again.

His expression remained calm, but his eyes stayed fixed on mine with uncomfortable intensity.

For the first time since arriving here, a small thread of unease curled through me.

"Why are you even listening to me?" I asked slowly. "You clearly hated me before."

His jaw tightened slightly at the word hated.

"I didn't hate you."

"You made my life difficult."

"You let people make your life difficult."

I blinked once.

That answer irritated me more than it should have.

Before I could respond, he continued quietly, "But this version of you is different."

The bus turned sharply around a corner, sunlight flickering briefly across his face again.

"You noticed in one day?" I asked.

"I noticed in one conversation."

Something about that response made my chest feel strangely tight.

Not romantic.

Not soft.

Just unsettling.

Because he was right.

I had changed too suddenly. Too completely.

Anyone paying attention would notice.

Kale looked down briefly at his hands before speaking again, quieter this time.

"You asked me something weird yesterday."

"How was I before?"

"Yeah."

I waited.

He exhaled slowly through his nose before answering. "The old you never asked things like that."

The old you.

Not you.

I noticed that immediately.

"So what was she like?" I asked carefully.

Kale stayed silent for a few seconds.

Then finally said, "Tired."

The answer surprised me.

Not weak.

Not quiet.

Tired.

Something about that felt painfully honest.

I looked down at the notebook resting in my lap. "You say that like you knew her well."

His expression shifted slightly. "I noticed things."

"That's vague."

"You ask too many questions suddenly."

"And you avoid answering them."

For a brief second, something almost amused crossed his face before disappearing again.

The bus slowed near a traffic signal. Students nearby continued talking loudly, completely unaware of the strange tension building between us.

Then Kale said something that made my stomach tighten unexpectedly.

"I think something happened to you."

I went still.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know yet."

Yet.

That word landed strangely.

I studied his face carefully, trying to figure out whether he was joking, testing me, or genuinely serious.

He didn't look like any of those things.

He looked thoughtful.

Focused.

Like someone piecing together fragments.

"What exactly are you implying?" I asked quietly.

Kale's fingers tapped once against the seat before he answered.

"I'm saying people don't change overnight for no reason."

The bus stopped outside campus gates.

Students immediately started standing and grabbing bags, breaking the moment apart around us.

Kale rose from his seat slowly before looking down at me again.

"Come to the old library building after classes."

I frowned. "Why?"

"Because," he said calmly, "I might know what's happening to you."

Then he walked off the bus before I could ask anything else.

I remained seated for several seconds afterward, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Outside, students crossed campus normally while the morning continued like nothing strange had happened.

But something about that conversation sat heavily inside my chest.

Because for the first time since arriving here—

someone else seemed to realize something was wrong too.

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