The Rose Luna

"That concludes today's lesson," the professor stated flatly, his voice mirroring the bland fluorescent lights.

I didn't wait for him to finish packing up his notes before I started shoving my things into my bag. The room felt stuffy, the faint buzz of whispered conversations around me pressing against my skull. This was my last class of the day, and I was already half out the door in my mind, worrying about the pending financial management exam and the gnawing question of whether I'd make rent this month.

The hallway was crowded, a steady stream of students brushing past me, their chatter a dull hum in the background. I was halfway to the exit when a familiar hand caught my shoulder, the touch light but insistent.

"Hey, where are you going?" Nathaniel's voice, a casual tone hinting at a smile, rose above the surrounding noise.

I turned to face him, forcing a small grin. "Heading home. Last class of the day."

"Wanna grab a bite?"

The offer caught me mid-step. My brain immediately ran the math: a few crumpled bills in my wallet, maybe enough to stretch into next week if I played it smart. But Nathaniel would bug me if I refused, and honestly, I was too tired to fight him.

"Sure, why not?" I said, aiming for enthusiasm but landing somewhere closer to neutral.

We walked together to the subway, Nathaniel launching into his usual commentary about professors and classmates. I nodded along, letting his words wash over me without really absorbing them. Nathaniel was the kind of person who filled silence like it was his duty, a trait I usually found comforting. But today, it grated on me, my patience worn thin by the weight of everything I wasn't saying.

I've known him for almost four years now. We met freshman year, randomly assigned to the same class. We got along fine, better than fine, but there was a wall he didn't even know existed. He didn't know I was an orphan who shuffled through the foster system for most of my childhood. He didn't know that keeping the lights on in my apartment was a monthly struggle.

And he definitely didn't know that today was my birthday.

Well, not my actual birthday. Just the date the cops found me, a five-year-old, covered in blood, wandering the streets like some ghost from a horror movie. The memory wasn't clear, just flashes: red smeared on pale skin, the cold bite of night air, voices shouting somewhere far away. I had been the story in the evening news for a few days before the world moved on to the next tragedy.

I never told anyone. Why would I? There was no cake, no balloons, no warmth to celebrate. It was just a bitter reminder of a day when no one wanted me, not even fate itself.

The subway screeched to a stop, jolting me from my thoughts. Nathaniel bounded off ahead of me, stopping by a burger joint, his