A letter? With her name on it? From Ian, who was currently standing in the doorway like he’d just talked himself into the biggest risk of his high school life?
Absolutely not.
She was not prepared for this.
Her heart was thudding harder than ever before, completely out of sync with the calmness of the Green Tea Café, where soft jazz played over the speakers and the smell of roasted matcha and baked pastries lingered in the chilly evening air.
Ian stood frozen, his fingers gripping the envelope. She almost didn’t reach out. Almost.
But her body moved on instinct, her fingers brushing his as she took the envelope. For a second, she felt the slightest tremble in his hand.
Her cheeks were already warming as she clutched the envelope tightly. There it was: her name—and ironically, not her actual name—was written in neat, careful strokes across the front.
Celia.
The name wrapped around her like a too-tight coat, suddenly heavy on her shoulders.
And then came the moment where she could feel it: eyes.
Mark and Marie, loitering by the café doorway with matching grins that reeked of conspiracy. Mark gave a dramatic wiggle of his brows, while Marie nudged him hard in the ribs, giggling softly.
Juno's mind whirred into overdrive. Was this some kind of love letter? An old-fashioned declaration? Were people still doing that in this century?!
She didn’t even know if Celia had liked Ian in that way. Had she written about him in the journals? Juno wracked her brain, flicking through mental pages. Nothing came to mind.
“Um,” Ian said, his voice a little higher than usual. “You can open it.”
Oh no. Oh no no no.
Juno fumbled with the flap, peeling it back slowly and carefully, wishing he couldn’t see how her fingers trembled.
Inside lay a sheet of thick, snow-white parchment, its surface smooth and heavy. Intricate silver filigree traced the borders in looping, ornamental patterns, and a deep crimson crest, wax-stamped and gleaming, marked the top center.
The words shimmered slightly under the café’s warm lighting:
The Annual Student’s Artisan, Culinary, and Business Fair
Hosted by St. Mary’s College
Below that, in black print:
Celia Goldberg and Ian Montgomery
are formally invited to present an original food or drink creation at the St. Mary’s Annual Student’s Artisan, Culinary, and Business Fair, three weeks from today, on the school’s historic campus.
Juno’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then it opened again.
“What?” she croaked pathetically.
Ian rubbed the back of his neck, clearly rehearsing whatever explanation he’d prepared. “I... I know it’s kind of formal. My sister goes to St. Mary’s, and she always said the fair was amazing: huge crowds, real food critics, college scouts, influencers sometimes, you know?” He paused.
“You mentioned a month ago that you wanted to try boothing this year. With your cocoa project.”
Juno blinked. Her soul temporarily left her body.
“I… did?” she said faintly.
“Yeah.” Ian smiled, hopeful. “You said you were finally ready. That you wanted to challenge yourself and bring your recipes to more people. And I thought… well, I was going to do it alone. But it’d be way better with you. Honestly, it’d be kind of a disaster without you.” He paused, his cheeks growing more red as he spoke once more.
“I wanted to give it to you in our last club meeting, but I wasn’t sure if you were in the right mood. But really, I’d love for you to join me, Celia.”
He gave a small laugh, nervous and sweet.
It was impossible not to know about St. Mary’s if you went to St. Edda’s. Located on the opposite end of the city across St. Edda’s, St. Mary’s College was the oldest and most prestigious all-girls school in the entire region.
It was the kind of school that had founding dates etched in stone and legacy students whose mothers and grandmothers all wore the same pressed blazers. Tuition was sky-high and all the uniforms were especially tailored.
St. Mary’s only accepted the elite: the academically elite, the socially elite, the terrifyingly composed. And everyone else simply... wasn’t enough.
It was a truth spoken and unspoken, a century-old divide that brewed the infamous rivalry with St. Edda’s. People liked to say that if you were a girl at St. Edda’s, it meant you were either too poor or too unworthy to make it into St. Mary’s. Charming.
And every year, that rivalry climaxed in the one event both schools were forced to share: The Annual Student’s Artisan, Culinary, and Business Fair.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Part exhibition, part bloodsport, it brought the best and brightest together for a day of creative showmanship and subtle warfare.
Everyone was competing: for recognition, scholarships, trophies, maybe even viral internet fame. Students from both schools brought their A-game, their best recipes, their most aesthetic displays. And, of course, their most perfectly rehearsed smiles.
For a brief second, Juno remembered the fair from her old life, back when she was just Juno Mori. She’d never dared attend, not even as a visitor. Places like that were packed wall-to-wall with students who looked like they’d been designed in a lab to be intimidating.
Glossy-haired, perfect-skinned, silver-spoon-smiled girls who would eat someone like her alive. She’d kept her distance then. She liked breathing.
Juno stared down at the invitation again. St. Mary’s College. A week from today. A full day of pretending to be Celia in front of who knows how many strangers. Potentially even people who’d actually known the real Celia. Former classmates. Friends. Teachers. Enemies.
She was going to implode.
Behind her, Mark chimed in, breaking the tension. “He asked me first, by the way.”
Marie nodded solemnly. “And me.”
“But,” Mark said, flinging his scarf over his shoulder with tragic flair, “I have a family camping trip next week. Nature calls.”
“I have finals,” Marie added, “and a terrifying physics professor who believes sleep is optional.”
“So, you’re his third choice?” Mark teased with a wink. “How romantic.”
“Mark,” Ian hissed, his ears turning bright red.
Juno could barely hear them. Her mind had retreated into a deep, dark spiral. There were no entries in Celia’s journals about this. Not one. And Celia was thorough, obsessively so. Did she forget? Or had she purposefully left it out?
Were there more journals? Hidden ones?
Ian stepped a little closer, dropping his voice. “But if you’ve changed your mind… I mean, it’s totally okay. I just thought… well, your Project 365 cocoas are kind of brilliant. And it’d be fun.”
He said that last part like he was testing the word in his mouth.
Juno looked up at him, her hands clutching the letter, her breath fogging slightly in the cold air drifting through the doorway.
Fun. Right.
A booth at a prestigious culinary fair. With someone who knew her as Celia for an entire year. In front of a crowd that might include Celia’s past.
And yet, when she glanced at Ian’s face, athis earnest, sheepish smile, something fluttered inside her chest. It felt like dread. Or nerves. Or both,
And then it came out, small and shaky:
“Okay.”
Ian blinked. “Okay?”
She nodded before she could stop herself. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”
The moment stretched.
Then Mark let out a dramatic gasp and flailed an arm. “Cocoa Club Goes Public! We’re expanding!”
Marie clapped, beaming. “We should help you prep. Taste tests! Booth design! Slogan brainstorming!”
“We could wear themed hats,” Mark added.
“No!” said Ian and Juno at the same time.
Mark pouted. “Rude.”
Juno let out a thin and nervous laugh, and immediately regretted how weird it sounded. Her fingers tightened around the thick parchment as Ian glanced at her again, that same hopeful, bashful smile still tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Oh no. He was doing that thing again. The soft-eye thing.
"Is it okay if we, um… meet again tomorrow? After classes?" Ian asked, rubbing the back of his neck. "To plan the booth? Just the two of us—I mean, unless you want the others to join. I figured we could sketch ideas, maybe test recipes?"
Just the two of us.
Her brain short-circuited for half a second. The sheer casualness of how he said it made it worse somehow, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like this wasn’t the beginning of a long, slow descent into a spiral of stress and emotional disarray.
“Y-yeah,” she said, her voice cracking. “Tomorrow. After class. That’s… fine.”
Ian’s grin grew, his relief comically visible. “Cool! I mean, awesome. I’ll bring notes.”
Mark groaned behind him. “Oh my god. He’s making notes. You’re hopeless.”
Marie grinned. “He made a mood board last time after you mentioned Project 365. Beware.”
“I did not make a mood board!”
“You did,” Marie said sweetly. “It had glitter on it.”
Ian turned to shove at them both, flustered and red-eared, and as their laughter rose around him, Juno exhaled shakily and glanced across the street.
But Aaron was gone.
Just empty pavement now, glistening faintly under the streetlight, as if he’d never been there at all.
Later that night, the Goldberg house was still. Aaron padded softly down the hallway to his room, towel slung over one shoulder, his damp dark hair curling at the edges. His phone buzzed in his hand.
K: Thanks for meeting today! I really appreciated it. You can ask me anything, anytime.
He stared at the message for a long moment.
- Just a single letter. No picture. No real name, that he knew of for now, at least.
He typed back:
Aaron: Thank you. I mean it.
Then he glanced up and stopped.
Celia’s room door was slightly ajar.
He took a slow, careful step closer.
There, in the sliver of light spilling into the hallway, he saw her. Celia’s hair was uncharacteristically messy and pinned back haphazardly, a pencil tucked behind one ear, her arms deep in stacks of books and journals.
She was talking to herself as she kept rummaging through her shelves. He watched in silence as she flipped through various notebook pages, mumbling under her breath, her face contorted in deep concentration.
He heard something like, “Did she skip it? That doesn’t make sense. Where’s the December log? She never skipped the December log.”
Her eyes scanned each page. Her frustration was nearly audible, like electricity in the air.
Aaron leaned against the wall, just out of view.
And without meaning to, he smiled.
She looked… alive. Not the ghostly version of his sister that had returned weeks ago. There was something determined in her now. Curious. A spark.
He wondered, almost fondly, when she’d make a new cocoa recipe again.
But then, the smile faded.
Because no matter how bright she looked in that moment, no matter how real she seemed…
She still isn’t the little sister he knew from a month ago.
His phone buzzed again. He looked down at K’s contact. That stark, singular letter.
Then, with a sigh, he turned and walked silently to his room, the image of Juno still burned behind his eyes.
She was looking for something.
And he had a feeling he wasn’t the only one with questions.