Silvia

The start of a fresh new week brought with it a renewed sense of determination. I had made a solemn vow to myself—no more tardiness, no more unnecessary attention, and certainly no more enduring Miss Cowan's withering glare. Today, I was armed with punctuality and resolve, marching through the school gates like a soldier on a mission to preserve my dignity.

I decided to steer clear of Mila. As much as I adored my best friend, our partnership wasn't exactly what you'd call discreet. She was bold, vibrant, and delightfully impossible to miss. But I needed to fade into the background like a shadow at dusk—no small feat, considering I was wearing Silus' face.

I leaned casually against the homeroom door, attempting to radiate an air of calm. On the inside, however, my heart was hammering as though I were moments away from a public trial. Each second dragged by, fraught with the fear that someone might notice something...off.

When I thought I'd managed to orchestrate a seamless entrance, a voice shattered my fragile sense of control—deep, unmistakable, and dripping with trouble. "Oi, Silus."

My spine stiffened, and an involuntary shiver rippled down my back—a reaction reserved exclusively for moments when disaster loomed. I turned slowly, every muscle in my body bracing for impact.

Aiden Hyde.

He strode towards me with the kind of confidence that suggested he didn't just own the hallway but might have drafted the blueprints for the school itself. If I hadn't already felt like I was balancing precariously on a tightrope, his intense gaze certainly made sure of it.

As he closed the distance between us, whatever irritation he might have harboured melted away, replaced by something far worse—bemusement. His eyes latched onto mine, sharp and calculating, as though he were piecing together a puzzle where I was the missing piece. A dangerous game, one I hadn't consented to play.

My nerves rebelled, my heartbeat launching into a frenzied performance I hadn't rehearsed for. Retreat wasn't an option—the solid, immovable homeroom door behind me confirmed that fact all too clearly.

"W-what?" The word escaped me, shaky and weak, betraying every ounce of the composure I'd been so desperate to cling to.

His smirk evolved into something truly diabolical. Without a hint of hesitation, he asked, "What's a girl doing dressed as a guy?"

My heart plummeted straight into my stomach, dragging my lungs along for the ride. For a split second, I genuinely considered fainting—anything to avoid whatever came next.

Had my meticulously crafted Silus disguise—my supposed masterpiece—detonated spectacularly in my face?

I stared at him, silently pleading with the universe for an escape hatch, an earthquake, or even a fire alarm—anything to disrupt this moment. But his eyes, sharp and relentless, pinned me in place.

In my rising panic, my mouth betrayed me, seizing control before my brain could intercept. "Are you blind?" I snapped, my voice sharp with defiance I definitely didn't feel.

Aiden laughed, low and mocking. He slid his hands into his pockets, watching me with the maddening confidence of a cat toying with a cornered mouse. "I know a girl when I see one."

"Are you saying I look like a girl?"

"I'm saying you are a girl."

"Why are you even talking to me?" I demanded, crossing my arms in a futile attempt to shield myself. "I thought you despised my very existence."

"I despise Silus."

"I am Silus."

His smirk didn't falter—in fact, it grew more insufferable. "Alright, I'll play along with your little game," he said, with a wink so shameless it sent my pulse skittering out of rhythm. "Catch you later, sweetheart."

He swaggered off, the picture of unbothered arrogance, leaving me plastered against the door like a hapless fly caught in a web. How on earth was I supposed to survive this without my cover completely disintegrating?

Homeroom passed by in a haze, a series of mumbled roll calls and the scrape of chairs that barely registered in my dazed mind. Somehow, I managed to avoid any further disasters—a miracle in and of itself. When I thought I could breathe, I found myself in the middle of first period.

Art class.

Of all the electives Silus could have chosen, he picked art—the same Silus who barely mustered enough enthusiasm for life, let alone creativity. His general approach to schoolwork was apathetic at best, as though he were physically allergic to the concept of effort.

I approached his desk, half-expecting to find a doodle of a stick figure or perhaps a blank canvas left in a defiant statement of minimalism. Instead, I stopped short. Sitting before me what his art project—a self-portrait, brooding and steeped in shades of black and grey.

The figure on the canvas wasn't just rough—it was raw. Each pencil stroke added layers of complexity, as if Silus had somehow condensed every unspoken thought, every guarded feeling, into this one image. The details were haunting—painfully real in a way that made me feel like I was intruding on something deeply personal.

And yet...it was beautiful. Achingly so.

My hands hovered over the pencils, paralysed by the enormity of what was in front of me. If I so much as lifted a pencil the wrong way, I knew I'd reduce this moody masterpiece into something resembling a toddler's finger-painting. One misstep, and I'd ruin the fragile genius Silus had inexplicably managed to conjure.

The class was steeped in quiet concentration, and the self-portrait before me whispered of unspoken sorrows and hidden depths. I couldn't tear my eyes away, mesmerised and haunted by the enigma of my brother's sudden burst of artistic ambition.

As I sat there, frozen in the face of this unexpected artistic renaissance, Mrs Lynne, our art teacher, drifted over like a benevolent fairy godmother. She was an elderly woman with eyes that twinkled as if she spent her weekends rescuing puppies and baking cookies. Her delicate frame made you want to wrap her in bubble wrap, just in case a stray breeze knocked her over.

She gazed at Silus' artwork as if she were beholding the Sistine Chapel and not a moody self-portrait created by the school's resident slacker. When she finally spoke, her voice was rich with wonder, like the opening lines of a grand monologue. "Art, my dear, possesses a voice that transcends the limitation of words. Don't you agree?"

I blinked, nodding slowly, because really—what could I possibly say to that? Agreeing seemed safer than attempting to match her poetic wisdom.

Her eyes remained locked on the portrait, her admiration palpable. "Silus," she said, addressing the absent artist, "you have a rare gift, one that allows you to reveal the deepest parts of yourself. This isn't just a portrait—it's a glimpse into your soul. Nurture this talent, for it has the power to move others in ways words cannot."

She paused, discreetly clearing her throat as though masking a delicate cough. As if propelled by an unseen breeze, she floated away to sprinkle her well-meaning praise onto the other students.

I sat there, utterly dumbfounded. Part of me genuinely appreciated that, amidst the mayhem of Silus' life, someone had seen his work and found something worthy of praise. But a much larger part of me was screaming internally, realising I was now expected to "nurture" a talent I didn't even possess. Wonderful.

By the time first and second period crawled to an end, I trudged towards the cafeteria, where chaos reigned as expected. It was a cacophony of clattering trays, animated chatter, and bursts of laughter that could easily be mistaken for a pack of hyenas. The aroma of mystery meat mixed with overly buttered rolls wafted through the air, combining with the overpowering scent of hastily applied deodorant. A true sensory masterpiece, if one had a taste for madness.

I scanned the sea of students, each group engrossed in their own little bubble of drama and gossip. My eyes flittered over table after table, searching for either a familiar face or a seat far enough from potential food fights, yet close enough to avoid the awkwardness of sitting alone.

My heart arched for Mila's presence, whose friendship felt like a beacon of sanity in the middle of my current double-life storm. With her around, the trials of high school felt less like a spy thriller and more like a sitcom.

Finally, I spotted her at a table, surrounded by her usual crowd. She was always at the centre of everything, her friends buzzing around her like she was some social queen bee. The contrast between our social worlds couldn't have been more glaring. Hers was filled with laughter and camaraderie, while mine was...well, mine mostly involved pretending to be my brother and avoiding public disgrace.

Instead of waltzing over to join her like the best friend I was supposed to be, I lingered on the outskirts. Mila was in her element, making her posse laugh like they'd never heard anything funnier, while I stood there feeling more isolated than a vegan at a barbeque joint.

The truth hit me square in the chest—Mila was my only friend. Sure, I had acquaintances, people I could nod to in passing, but she was the one person who truly knew me. Now, thanks to this charade, she had to pretend she didn't.

It wasn't just Silus who was the lone wolf in this predicament. Maybe I wasn't as different from him as I liked to believe.

As I stood there, wallowing in the tragic state of my social life, Dane materialised next to me with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball. I let out an embarrassing gasp, nearly jumping out of my skin.

"How did you not notice me?" he asked, flashing his usual grin, as though startling people was his favourite hobby.

"Sorry, I was busy contemplating the meaning of life," I replied, half-serious, and half-hoping he'd take the hint and disappear in a puff of smoke.

His gaze followed mine to Mila's table, and his expression scrunched in exaggerated concentration. A knowing smile crept across his face. "Oh, I get it now."

"Get what?"

He turned to me, his eyes twinkling. "You have a crush on Camila," he said, his voice dripping with misplaced confidence.

I stared at him, the disbelief so immediate I nearly choked on my own exasperation. "What?!"

He nodded, as if his ridiculous theory made even the slightest bit of sense. "It all adds up now. Didn't know you had that side to you, Silus."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought I might see the back of my skull. "Oh please. I'd sooner develop a crush on calculus."

"That bad, huh? Well, denial is the first sign of—"

"Oh my god, you're still the same idiot." I cut him off, a laugh bursting out before I could stop it.

Dane froze for a moment, his eyes widening just enough to make me wonder if I'd grown a second head. Then, almost too quickly, he turned his face away, covering his mouth with one hand as if hiding...something. A smile? A smirk? I couldn't tell, and frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Clearing his throat, he finally spoke, his voice tighter than usual. "Well, they do say denial is a river in Egypt." He glanced at his phone. "I better go. See you later, Romeo." With that parting shot, he sauntered off as if he'd won an imaginary battle.

I let out a long, exasperated sigh, shaking my head. Dane never changed. He'd perfected the art of being both infuriating and oddly entertaining—a maddening combination that left me unsure whether I wanted to throttle him or laugh.

I cast one more glance towards Camila and her lively circle of friends. The loneliness hit me again, sharp and cold. With slumped shoulders, I made the executive decision to retreat from the cafeteria entirely.

The rest of the day blurred together, my brain stuck on autopilot as I drifted from class to class. Each tick of the clock felt like an eternity, every lecture a monotonous drone I couldn't focus on. When the final bell rang, its sweet note of liberation felt more like a lifeline than an ending.

I trudged home, my steps growing slower with every passing block. The well-worm path seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of me, its cracks and uneven slabs somehow more pronounced in my exhausted state. Even my shadow seemed to droop, as if it, too, could use a hug.

The events of the day buzzed incessantly in my mind like a swarm of unwelcome bees, leaving me so distracted I almost missed what jolted me out of my fog.

A poster. It was slapped unevenly onto a weathered telephone pole, its edges curling as though fighting to stay attached. I would've walked right past it, but something about it pulled me back—curiosity, or maybe the strange familiarity of it.

I stopped, my eyes narrowing as I tried to make sense of the image glowing faintly against the backdrop of the setting sun. A missing person poster. But not just anyone.

Silus.

A chill swept through me, my breath hitching as I froze. The poster looked old, its ink faded from time and exposure, but there was no mistaking it. Dad must have put it up before I took on Silus' identity—back in those frantic days when he still clung to the belief that someone, somewhere, might have answers.

The photo he'd chosen was from three years ago—back when Silus still knew how to smile. That smile, frozen in time, felt like a ghost now. A fragile, fleeting glimpse of happiness, worn down by years of loss and the turmoil that had fractured our family.

I should've taken the posters down. It would've been the logical thing to do. But I hadn't. Maybe it was laziness, or maybe it was because a part of me didn't want to. Some desperate, aching corner of my heart still hoped Silus might see them. That he'd see Dad's plea plastered on the pole and finally come home.

I forced myself to keep walking, but my steps felt heavier. The posters followed me, pinned to every other telephone pole like grim sentinels. Each one bore the same faded image—Silus' face staring back at me, a reflection of everything we'd lost. It felt like walking through a gallery of grief—an endless, inescapable exhibit of memories twisted into something unbearably painful.

These posters weren't just Dad's cries for help. They were threads of a bond he refused to sever. Finding Silus wasn't just about having his son back—it was about holding on to the faith that, somehow, we weren't entirely broken.

Yet, here I was, pretending to be that son.

The irony twisted inside me, bitter and unforgiving. How could I reconcile the fact that I was living a lie, posing as the brother my father so desperately sought? It felt like a cruel joke, that I couldn't laugh at, no matter how hard I tried.