Page 1 of Crystal Iris #1

One

“The job of the artist is always to deepen the mystery.” – Francis Bacon

O f course, I can’t sleep—it’s too much. My eyes have been closed for what seems like an eternity now, just waiting for him. How is he still moving? Is he still awake? I have to get up. The day keeps replaying in my head like a broken movie. I have to get up now .

I take a deep breath and decide it’s time. It’s worth the risk; the bed is suffocating.

I make sure to lock the door behind me after grabbing a drink.

The bathroom—the only place in this house where I can get some privacy.

I can’t believe I’ll be calling it home.

I hate this place. It’s like living in an office—no personality, no warmth.

I guess I could change things. After all, I’m going to be living here .

I step into the scalding hot water and instantly feel better. This giant bathtub isn’t so bad. What am I going to do if Aaron knocks on the door right now? I reassure myself that after that many drinks, I could be holding a baby unicorn, and he wouldn’t notice or care.

I take another deep breath. Breathing— isn’t that what I’m supposed to excel at after a decade of yoga?

Why is it so challenging to control the most basic human function?

I smile at the only thing that could calm my nerves right now: whiskey .

Another perk of this place—always a stocked bar.

With everyone getting drunk at the party, I’m happy I saved enough space for this.

There’s a difference between drinking with people and drinking alone.

Like everything else, I prefer doing it alone.

As I let the liquid gold work its magic, my mind dives into my past, searching for answers—some insight to explain why my dad decided to show up after all these years.

Seventeen fucking years. Of course, there’s nothing.

My fingers toy with the necklace he gave me, turning it over and over.

I’ve never seen anything like it. Obviously, I know it can’t be the real thing—there’s no way.

A diamond this size, almost an inch long, on a delicate gold chain?

My parents struggled to make ends meet for as long as I can remember.

My mind goes back to all the hand-me-down clothes and toys.

Mom stayed home with me while Dad worked in sales.

He had good and bad seasons; unfortunately, the bad ones always seemed to last a lot longer.

At least we always made rent. I shrug at the memories.

Tears spill down my face, disappearing into the bathwater. Crying on my birthday—classic me. Then again, it’s probably past midnight by now, no longer my birthday at all.

I reach for my phone to check the time, and my glass slips from my hand and shatters on the floor.

“Shit.”

Blood stains the water, and I suck on my finger, sighing heavily.

I want this day to end . I dunk my head underwater, letting the silence wrap around me.

When I resurface, my new necklace catches my eye.

It’s glowing. Not shining exactly, but there’s a light trapped inside the diamond—a soft, pulsing purple.

Or violet, as Akira would correct me. I lift it closer, turning it in my hands, searching for an explanation.

Nothing. My mouth hangs open as I stare.

The spilled drink on the floor is the only proof I’m not drunk.

What kind of diamond does this? What did Akira call it when I sent her the picture earlier?

A prism? I’m not even sure I know what that is.

Math has never been my thing. I count the edges.

Five edges—but seven sides? Is there even a name for that shape?

Probably something I would know if my parents had been around to help with my homework.

I roll my eyes. Anger churns beneath the surface, anger I thought I’d worked through in therapy.

Apparently not. Not enough therapy in a lifetime to fix all my bullshit.

My dad’s voice slices through me. “You look…beautiful,” he said, walking toward me just hours ago. How did he know to be there? Where did he even come from? Did someone invite him to my party? Amid all the questions swirling in my head, all I managed to say was, “Dad?”

To say I was shocked is an understatement. I barely remember the man. My idea of a father is split between hazy memories of a great dad playing with his little girl and the bitter truth that he walked out on his teenage daughter.

“Get out,” I said.

And that was it. He nodded, murmuring, “I’m so sorry.” He handed me his gift—or rather, my mother’s gift—and left. Again.

It took me a while to process that my dad was actually standing in front of me, just like I used to dream about for years.

But now, it’s too late. Way too late . The music from the party pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts, along with the hollow wishes for happiness from people who barely knew me.

Most of them were Aaron’s friends. We were never going to be friends.

It took one look at them to know that. Aside from Akira, Lara, and Ted, you wouldn’t even know it was my birthday.

By the time I get out of the water, it’s cold. I carefully dry myself, avoiding the broken glass on the floor. The prism’s light vanished minutes after it appeared. I stayed in the bath, hoping to see it again. I didn’t.

Now, staring at my reflection in the mirror, at my perfectly matching pajamas, one thought claws at my mind: I’m so tired of being a good girl.

The sunlight filters through the trees, bringing the colors to life.

Yellow leaves are starting to pile up at my feet, and the brick buildings on campus feel perfectly in tune with the season.

October always has a way of lifting my mood—my birthday is simply another perk of the month.

Honestly, I’ve yet to meet anyone who doesn’t love autumn.

Soon enough, this place will be full of tourists who’ll agree with me: Harvard in the fall is as good as it gets.

“Hey! How did it go last night? I mean, after the party,” Akira asks, falling into step beside me.

I smile, noticing the coffee cart line is unusually short today. “Oh, you know, nothing too crazy,” I reply, eyeing her outfit. “What are you wearing?” Between her tattoos, colorful hair, and chaotic style, I’m surprised she’s even allowed on campus.

“Because I’m the best at my shit,” she replies, like she read my mind.

And she’s right. Akira is some kind of astrophysics genius.

We met during my first week here and bonded over coffee—always running into each other in this very line.

Eventually, we said hello. Now, our friendship revolves around a shared love of Friday-night drinking, dancing at Spiral, and, occasionally, fantasizing about murdering our students.

“Don’t change the subject!” she snaps, waving a hand at me. “Nothing crazy, huh? Not even in bed?” She tries to wink, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I got my birthday dessert,” I shoot back with a playful wink, even though I told Aaron I had a massive headache and needed to sleep. He bought it after I blamed it on my father.

“I mean, who wouldn’t, with that delicious boyfriend of yours? Shit! Fiancé!” she teases.

I stare at the new ring on my finger, opulent yet so simple compared to the other gift I received yesterday. I swear I can almost feel the prism warming up as I think about it. I lift my gaze in Akira’s direction, but she’s already walking away, calling over her shoulder, “Gotta get to class!”

Nothing like the first sip of coffee. I ran out the door this morning, barely exchanging words with Aaron, even though I don’t have to be in the classroom until eleven today.

I can still see his face when he proposed last night.

I knew it would happen eventually. It was the obvious next step.

We’ve been together since we were teens.

The boy next door, as my grandma used to call him.

I wonder if she really thought he lived that close.

Aaron lived on the West Side, where all the homes had been remodeled, and I lived on the East Side, where all the homes had been forgotten.

Even though we lived on opposite sides of the park, it was an easy cross if you knew the shortcuts.

He was there for me when no one else was.

After my mom died, Dad had a rough few years. Then, we had some good months before he left me for good. My grandparents moved in right away, trying to keep some semblance of normalcy in my life by keeping us local. Nothing has been normal since.

Aaron would sneak in after school on most days.

We’d watch TV, do our homework, and, of course, make out until it was dinner time and we both had to show our faces to our families.

My grandparents were too old to go upstairs; they mostly stayed on the first floor until bedtime, giving me almost full rein of the upper level of the house during the day.

That, along with the constant sound of their loud TV, allowed me to grow up faster than most kids my age.

Mostly, though, Aaron was there for me—when the anxiety attacks would creep in, when my breathing would get stuck.

He was there to rub my back, guiding each inhale and exhale for as long as I needed.

He was there when I cried on my birthdays, on Christmas, even at prom.

He was the first one I showed my college admission letter to, and even though we went to different schools, we stayed tight.

Turns out, it’s very easy to date your best friend. And then keep dating him, because he loves you .