The girl beside Hazel fiddled with the strap of her bag, stealing a gnce at Hazel’s bck blouse and the way it draped cleanly over her frame. The silence between them wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it crackled faintly with curiosity.

  “I’m Mia, by the way,” the girl finally offered, her voice a notch quieter now, as if unsure if introductions were even necessary.

  Hazel turned just enough to offer a polite smile. “Hazel.”

  Mia’s eyes widened slightly, something unspoken fshing across her expression—recognition, maybe. A name remembered from somewhere else. A different time. “Hazel… huh. Pretty name.”

  “Thanks,” Hazel replied, her voice unreadable, but not cold. “You’re in this css often?”

  “Three days a week. I guess we’ll be seatmates then?” Mia gave a hopeful smile, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  Hazel gave a small nod, her gaze briefly drifting toward the windows again where the frisbee had now vanished. The cssroom buzzed faintly with arriving students. For a moment, she simply breathed—content to observe.

  In the periphery, she could feel eyes drift her way. Not many. Just a few. But enough to register the slight shift in the air around her, the way the human body responds instinctively to beauty it doesn’t understand.

  She looked back at Mia. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah. You too,” Mia said, her voice soft, yet lingering—like she meant it.

  Mia hesitated again, eyes flicking toward Hazel's face, then away. Her fingers tapped lightly against the desk in a nervous rhythm.

  “Um… can I ask you something?” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

  Hazel didn’t turn, but her eyes shifted slightly, golden irises catching the morning light. “You can try.”

  Mia let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “You… you were sick, right? I mean—not that you look it or anything, it’s just—I heard things. About people who got better, but they changed.”

  Hazel looked at her then, full-on. Not annoyed, not cold. Just... watching.

  “I wasn’t expecting to come back looking quite like this,” she said, a hint of a smile ghosting her lips. “But yes. I was sick.”

  Mia flushed. “Sorry. That was rude. I just—people are saying things. Quietly, but… you know.”

  “I know,” Hazel replied. She didn’t sound angry, only tired. “They don’t have all the facts, just fragments. Stories without context.”

  Mia nodded slowly. “So… is it true? Your heart… doesn’t beat the same?”

  “It beats,” Hazel said softly. “Just slower. About five times a minute, if I’m still.”

  Mia’s brows knit together, a mix of awe and unease. “That doesn’t hurt?”

  Hazel tilted her head slightly. “It doesn’t feel unnatural to me anymore.”

  A long pause stretched between them. Mia opened her mouth, then closed it, unsure how to phrase her next question. Hazel waited.

  “I guess I just wondered… do you still feel like you?”

  Hazel's expression softened. She rested one elbow on the desk and leaned slightly in, her voice low. “I do. But it’s like… walking through your own life wearing different skin. Everyone looks at you like they’ve never met you.”

  Mia’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” she said after a moment. “People should get to meet you again, if they didn’t really see you before.”

  Hazel’s gaze lingered on her, just for a moment, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “That’s a generous way to look at it.”

  Before Mia could reply, the door opened with a creak, and the professor swept in, distracted by papers and a lukewarm cup of coffee.

  Css was beginning. But something about the morning already felt warmer.

  The professor dropped his bag beside the desk with a soft thud and began arranging a stack of folders. His wire-rim gsses slid down his nose as he gnced around the room.

  “Before we begin,” he said, voice carrying the natural authority of someone used to being listened to, “I’d like to welcome back a student who’s been on medical leave for some time.”

  Hazel already knew it was coming. Her fingers paused mid-notebook flip, then resumed calmly as all eyes in the room started to shift toward her.

  “Hazel,” the professor continued, gesturing gently, “would you mind coming up and reintroducing yourself?”

  There was no reluctance in her movements as she stood. Her bck blouse caught the soft morning light, and her stride was steady—too steady, too fluid. Whispers ebbed at the edges of the room like water rising behind gss.

  Hazel reached the front of the css and turned with practiced poise, her golden eyes sweeping across the room.

  “I’m Hazel,” she began, her voice clear and smooth. “Some of you might remember me from st semester. I took a brief leave after contracting the Hemotropis luxura virus.”

  There was a small rustle of discomfort—some students stiffening in their seats, others pretending not to stare.

  Hazel met it all with calm certainty. “I’ve recovered. I’m stable. I’m still me.” She gave the faintest smile, almost pyful. “Just with a few adjustments.”

  A few chuckles scattered through the room, unsure but disarmed.

  The professor gave a short nod of thanks. “Thank you, Hazel. We’re gd to have you back.”

  She returned to her seat beside Mia, who gave her a quiet, impressed look. Hazel merely arched a brow and slid her pen from her bag.

  “I hate talking in front of crowds,” she whispered.

  “You didn’t look like it,” Mia whispered back.

  Hazel smiled faintly. “Good.”

  And with that, the lecture began.

  The professor’s gaze softened as he turned to Hazel. “Before we dive into today’s material, Hazel, I want to check in with you. We’ll be covering Hemotropis luxura virus—your condition, essentially. I want to make sure you’re comfortable with that. If at any point you want us to stop or change direction, just say the word.”

  Hazel met his eyes steadily, her voice calm and steady. “I’m okay with it. It’s part of my life now, and I want to understand it better.”

  “Thank you,” the professor said with a nod. “Alright, everyone, let’s begin.”

  As the lecture started, Hazel felt the unmistakable shift in the cssroom’s energy. Heads subtly turned her way; whispers fluttered beneath the professor’s words. She caught snippets: “That’s her… the one with the virus,” or “It’s amazing she’s back already.” The curiosity was palpable, mixed with a trace of unease.

  Mia, still sitting beside Hazel, leaned in slightly and whispered, “It must be hard, having so many eyes on you. I hope it’s not too overwhelming.”

  Hazel gave a faint smile. “It’s not always easy, but I’ve learned to carry it. Sometimes, I almost forget people are watching.”

  Mia nodded, eyes wide but gentle. “I read a little about the virus. It changes so much—how you heal, how your body works. Does it hurt, though? The transformation?”

  Hazel paused thoughtfully. “The physical part… the actual change was intense. Like every cell was being rewritten. But now, it’s more about control—managing the new body and its needs.”

  She gnced around; a few students were trying to catch her eye, as if hoping she might say more. A pair of girls whispered quietly across the aisle, gncing at Hazel with a mix of fascination and apprehension.

  The professor clicked through microscopic images projected on the screen. “Hemotropis luxura accelerates cellur regeneration and alters metabolic function. This results in enhanced healing capabilities but also significant physiological shifts—like altered heart rate and sensory perception.”

  One student, a boy near the back, whispered to his friend, “I heard they don’t really need sleep anymore. Is that true?”

  Hazel spoke softly, almost to herself, yet loud enough for Mia to hear, “Sleep happens, but rarely. And dreaming... that fades.”

  Mia’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That sounds lonely, in a way.”

  “Maybe,” Hazel admitted. “But it’s also peaceful. Dreams can be… unsettling.”

  Another girl shifted nervously in her seat and whispered, “Do you still feel human? Or has that changed too?”

  Hazel considered this carefully. “I’m not the same person I was, physically or mentally. But who we are isn’t just skin deep. I’m still me. Just… rewritten.”

  The professor’s voice cut through the murmurs. “Let’s also consider the social impact. Those infected often face isotion or stigma, complicating recovery and reintegration.”

  Mia gnced at Hazel again, empathy shining in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to live with all this attention—and not just from people, but from society.”

  Hazel’s eyes softened. “It’s a strange bance. I want to be normal, but I’m also marked by this virus. Still, I’m learning to live with it. Day by day.”

  The lecture continued, but Hazel’s mind briefly drifted to the life outside this cssroom—the silent, unseen battles and small victories.

  As the professor wrapped up, a few students gathered their things while shooting gnces at Hazel. Some whispered among themselves, while others simply stared, as if trying to decipher the mystery she embodied.

  Mia smiled warmly as she stood. “If you ever want to talk more, or just hang out, I’m here.”

  Hazel met her gaze with genuine appreciation. “Thank you, Mia. That means a lot.”

  As the room emptied and the buzz of voices faded, Hazel felt a quiet shift within herself—an acceptance, fragile but real. She was no longer just a student returning from absence; she was a living testament to survival, and maybe, in time, to something more.

  Hazel gathered her things with calm efficiency, folding her notebook and slipping it into her bag. Mia was already standing, stretching slightly as the st of the students filed out around them.

  They stepped into the hallway together, the noise of chatter and footsteps swelling into the usual campus hum. But Hazel’s presence seemed to pull attention like a magnet.

  Before she could reach the stairs, a small group of cssmates—three girls and a boy—fell into step beside her, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and nervousness.

  One of the girls, the tallest with sharp eyes, spoke first. “Hey, Hazel, right? We, uh… we were wondering—how do you manage everything? The virus, the changes, going back to school so fast?”

  Hazel regarded them with steady amber eyes, sensing their tentative respect beneath the questions. “It’s not easy. But it’s about adapting, one step at a time.”Hazel gathered her things with calm efficiency, folding her notebook and slipping it into her bag. Mia was already standing, stretching slightly as the st of the students filed out around them.

  They stepped into the hallway together, the noise of chatter and footsteps swelling into the usual campus hum. But Hazel’s presence seemed to pull attention like a magnet.

  Before she could reach the stairs, a small group of cssmates—three girls and a boy—fell into step beside her, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and nervousness.

  One of the girls, the tallest with sharp eyes, spoke first. “Hey, Hazel, right? We, uh… we were wondering—how do you manage everything? The virus, the changes, going back to school so fast?”

  Hazel regarded them with steady amber eyes, sensing their tentative respect beneath the questions. “It’s not easy. But it’s about adapting, one step at a time.”

  The boy shifted his weight, gncing sideways. “Does it… hurt? I mean, living like this?”

  She gave a slight nod. “There’s pain, but it’s different now. More internal. You learn to live with it.”

  Another girl, with soft curls and a hopeful smile, ventured, “Do you still feel like yourself? Or has everything changed?”

  Hazel’s lips curved into a thoughtful smile. “I’m still me. Just… changed. Like a book rewritten, not erased.”

  They exchanged looks, clearly impressed by her poise.

  Mia stayed quietly by Hazel’s side, watching the exchange with a quiet approval.

  The tallest girl cleared her throat. “If you ever want to hang out or need anything, just let us know. We’re here.”

  Hazel’s smile deepened. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  The group slowly fell back, letting Hazel and Mia continue down the hall.

  As they walked toward the exit, Hazel felt a lightness she hadn’t expected—a small opening in the walls she’d built around herself.

  Mia gnced at her. “You handled that well.”

  Hazel shrugged softly. “It’s easier to face curiosity than silence.”

  Together, they stepped out into the bright morning light, the campus bustling around them—life moving forward, as it always did.