Now she sat alone at a corner table, staring at her phone.
She hadn’t meant to open the email from Mr. Krug again, but the subject line haunted her:Almost there!His feedback looped in her head like static.
“This is an excellent draft, Riya. Polished, thoughtful, clear. You’re so close! But I still don’t feel like I know you. I think you’re holding something back. What makes this dream personal? Don’t be afraid to bare your soul.”
Except she couldn’t exactly bare her soul when it was already on the bargaining table. The truest thing she could—that she would have to trade her future to break a curse—wasn’t something she could put in an application essay, anyway.
How ironic. She’d done everything right—grades,leadership, ambition, control. And now, steps from her goal, magic was forcing her to throw it all away.
A month ago, she would’ve attacked the problem like any other: research, variables, contingency plans. There was always a way to keep everything intact. That was the rule. If you worked hard enough, you won.
But this wasn’t a test. There was no clever workaround. She couldn’t have both.
Even if she undid her mistake and gave up Caltech, Kian would forget everything—every ridiculous moment, every part of him that had slipped under her guard.
The old her wouldn’t have hesitated like this.
The door flew open. A gust of wind, a clatter of the bell.
Kian—or what she assumed was Kian—stumbled inside, buried beneath a floating mass of balloons. Pink, orange, silver, clear with glitter confetti inside. They bobbed and jerked like they were trying to escape him.
He shoved his way to her table, squinting through the mess. “Sorry I’m late,” he said brightly. “Coach Reese wouldn’t let me out even a minute early from detention, and then I had to meet up with Eric for soun—I mean, for a thing. But I brought you a present.”
Riya stared. Kian attempted to sit, but the balloons wouldn’t allow it. They bumped and squeaked against the walls and chairs, knocked a fork off a nearby plate. A small child whispered, “Is it someone’s birthday?”
The barista, a lanky college student with an eyebrow piercing, looked up from the counter and groaned.“Hey—you really shouldn’t bring all those in here—”
“Hey, there are no rules against balloons!” Kian barked. “I checked your website!”
“That’s beside the point! Just sit outside, please!”
Riya stood, grabbed his sleeve, and steered him toward the exit.
“Come on, Balloon Boy,” she muttered, a small smile tugging despite herself. “Before you get us banned.”
Outside, Riya sat stiffly at the nearest patio table while Kian tied the bouquet of chaos to the back of her chair. The balloons hovered behind her like a halo. A very loud, shiny halo.
“How am I supposed to get home with these?” she asked.
“I’ll drive you!” Kian replied, grinning.
“And dare I ask—why the balloons?”
“The hint is how many there are.”
Riya quickly counted. Twenty-four. “Ah.”
“One balloon for every day since the curse,” he said proudly. “Do you like it?”
It was absurd. It was unnecessary. It was very Kian.
“Thanks,” she said.
Kian’s voice dropped. “I just—I was worried. That’s why I wanted to talk. I wanted to ask if you’re okay.”
Riya glanced up, startled.
“You looked off yesterday,” he said. “When you came to drop off my notebook. Sad, maybe. Or scared. I don’t know.”
