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“Hmm, yeah exactly. Two parts.”

A laugh escapes me then, “You’re exaggerating.” I shake my head, nodding toward her, “Also, when was the last time you ate?”

“That sounds like a tricky question,” she replies, closing her eyes.

“Still waiting for an answer.”

Her eyes meet mine quickly before turning back to her hands. “I had coffee.”

“Coffee isn’t food, Mireya.”

A long sigh escapes her lips. “You’re very annoying and weirdly observant outside of class.”

“It’s part of the job.” I reply, keeping my eyes on the road.

She laughs and shakes her head, “Do you always drive exhausted students home?”

“Only difficult ones.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she says with a faint smile.

The journey to her house is unfortunately quick and she spent the entire time looking out the window, humming the songs playing and tapping her fingertips against the car.

After a few minutes, we arrive at her neighbor’s house and a little boy, who I assume is her little brother, jumps on Mireya as soon as she gets out of the car. An old lady is watching them on the doorstep with a smile and I can hear the little boy yelling, “Reya!”

Her shoulders relax softly as soon as she hugs him.

He looks up inside the car and smiles before waving at me. “Hi sir!”

I smile before getting out and taking his small hand in mine, kneeling, “You can call me Damien.”

“You can call me Milo,” he says, nodding. Then he runs back to the lady who’s waving at me too.

Mireya is standing there, looking at her little brother, a hand in her back pocket, hair dancing in the wind. She turns back to me and says, “Thank you again, I needed to see him.”

I smile, “he needed you too, I think.”

“Don’t miss me too much this weekend, Damien.” And she walks back to the house as she waves with her hand.

“See you on Monday, Miss Vitelli.”

I watch her disappear behind the door and stay there, staring at the house that has nothing to do with me.

I don’t have the right to want more, not even to wonder whether she’ll eat dinner and sleep. Most of all, I don’t have the right to want to know.

She has a future she’s fighting for, a life she’s trying to build. The last thing she needs is someone in my position complicating it.

So I drive back to campus, the same CD still playing, and somewhere along the way, I catch myself smiling. It disappears the moment I park at St. Ellesta.

That’s when my phone rings, and I see Kyle's name appear.

“Go for Caldwell,” I say, getting out of the car.

“Damien, I have some information about the girl they found,” he answers immediately. “You'll never guess.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Elena Stanwell, nineteen years old, was accepted to St. Ellesta on a recommendation, but according to the autopsy results, she was killed just before the start of term.”