NOVEL WEB Chapter 3: Chapter 3 – The Weight of Perfection
(Astria's POV)
The rain had stopped by the time I parked outside my house, but the damp chill still clung to the air. The drive back from Morana's dorm had been quiet—too quiet.
I wasn't sure what I expected after giving her a ride. Maybe a little less hostility, maybe some awkward gratitude. But instead, she bolted like she had just survived a near-death experience.
And she had kept my hoodie.
I smirked to myself as I stepped inside my house, shaking off the cold.
Crestmoor wasn't a big town, but my family's house stood on one of the better streets—the kind lined with trimmed hedges and driveways long enough to remind you of the wealth that lived there.
Inside, the air was too clean, too perfect. Not a single thing out of place.
And yet, I felt more at ease in Morana's sharp sarcasm and chaotic presence than I did here.
I shut the door behind me and was immediately greeted by my mother's voice.
"Astria? You're late."
I turned, keeping my expression neutral. "I was studying."
A half-truth. If pissing off Morana Graves counted as studying, then sure.
My mother appeared in the hallway, dressed in her usual flawless ensemble—a sleek white blouse, a tailored skirt, not a hair out of place. She studied me, her eyes sharp, searching for something out of order.
They lingered on my empty hands.
"Where's your notebook?"
I tensed, then shrugged. "Forgot it in my car."
A pause. The kind of silence that wasn't really silence, but judgment waiting to be spoken.
"You can't afford to be careless, Astria," she finally said, voice smooth but firm. "Your grades, your record—everything matters."
I forced a smile. "I know."
She gave me one last measuring look before nodding. "Dinner is at seven. Don't be late."
And just like that, she walked away, leaving me standing in the hallway.
For a moment, I just stood there.
Then, with a sigh, I turned and headed upstairs, shutting my bedroom door behind me.
Leaning against it, I finally let my mask slip.
For once, I let my shoulders sag.
Because being "Astria Beaumont"—the perfect girl, the golden child, the one everyone admired—was exhausting.
And for some ridiculous reason…
Morana's careless, unapologetic way of existing was stuck in my head.
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The Next Day – Campus Courtyard
I shouldn't have been looking for her.
I wasn't looking for her.
But when I walked through the courtyard between classes, my eyes still drifted.
And then, I spotted her.
Morana sat alone on a stone bench, hunched over her sketchbook—the same one that had nearly drowned in the rain yesterday. Her dark hoodie was different, but there was something familiar underneath.
My hoodie.
I bit my lip to stop a smile.
She didn't notice me approaching until I was right in front of her.
"You kept it."
Morana jolted, snapping her book shut. "Jesus, warn a person before you materialize out of nowhere."
I smirked. "Didn't think you startled easily."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't."
I nodded toward the hoodie. "Could've fooled me."
She followed my gaze, then immediately crossed her arms over her chest like it would erase the evidence.
"It's comfortable," she muttered. "That's all."
"So you're admitting you like something of mine?"
She glared. "Don't push your luck, princess."
I laughed, sitting on the bench beside her.
Morana stiffened. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting."
"You have friends, you know. Go sit with them."
I leaned back, stretching my arms over the bench. "Maybe I like pissing you off more."
She groaned. "Why are you like this?"
"Why are you?" I shot back playfully.
She huffed, opening her sketchbook again, trying to ignore me.
That's when I noticed it.
The drawing.
It wasn't the gothic cathedral from yesterday. It was a person.
A girl with long, flowing hair. Someone drawn with so much attention to detail, so much focus, it felt almost… personal.
I tilted my head. "Who's that?"
Morana snapped the book shut again. "No one."
I raised a brow. "You're a terrible liar."
"Good," she deadpanned. "Lying is exhausting."
I laughed. "Okay, fair."
The conversation should've ended there. I should've left her alone, walked away, gone back to my usual world of polished conversations and effortless smiles.
But I didn't.
Because something about Morana Graves—her sharp edges, her unwillingness to fit in, her absolute refusal to be anyone but herself—kept me rooted in place.
And for the first time in a long time…
I didn't feel like Astria Beaumont, the perfect girl.
I just felt like me.
And I liked that.