Lost Girl

Chapter I — A New Place

The house stood on the edge of a small town in Oregon. On one side it was surrounded by a forest that smelled of wet earth and pine, on the other — a narrow road leading toward the school, the stores, and the world she was yet to discover. The house was white, with large windows and a porch that creaked with every step. It smelled of fresh paint and new beginnings, but still felt strange, as if it wasn’t ready to reveal its secrets just yet. Her name was Lena. She was seventeen, with long dark hair that reached almost to her waist, and eyes as blue as the summer sky — cold, clear, piercing. She was slim, delicate, with soft features she often hid behind her hair. Her beauty was effortless — the kind that isn’t sought but simply noticed. She liked dresses, though she rarely wore them, saving them for special occasions. Most of the time, she chose jeans, sweaters, and calm, muted colors that made her feel safe. Lena was quiet. Sometimes too quiet. She preferred listening to speaking, watching to acting. She didn’t like noise or crowds or new people — and right now, her life was full of all three. Her mother, Clara, was her opposite. Short, blonde, always perfectly groomed, dressed with elegance and taste — she looked like someone who always knew what she was doing. Her eyes carried a constant smile, though sometimes it hid exhaustion. She was strong, demanding, especially when it came to Lena’s education. Clara believed that everything in life depended on effort, that her daughter could be anything she wanted — as long as she worked hard enough. Their relationship was warm but tense. They didn’t argue often, but when they did, both could be stubborn. The move had been one of those times.

“Couldn’t you find something closer?”

“It’s a good school, Lena. A new place, a new start. We both need that.”

“Maybe you do…” she murmured, but her mother didn’t reply.

Weeks passed — the flight, the new city, the new house. Her father was left behind, somewhere across the ocean, with another woman. All Lena knew about her was that she was different. Not better, not worse — just different. Clara rarely spoke of him. The alimony came regularly, the bills were paid, the fridge was full. But in the air lingered a silence shaped like his absence. The first day at her new school was hard. The building was huge, filled with strangers and conversations she could only half understand. Smiles were polite but distant. Teachers were kind but detached. Lena sat in the last row, staring at the board, trying to memorize every word, just to seem like she belonged. During breaks, she watched others — the girls with perfect hair and phones in their hands, the boys laughing loudly near the vending machine. She felt invisible. I wonder how long it’ll take them to remember my name, she thought. Or if they ever will. After classes, she walked home. Clara was in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. The radio played softly — their favorite kind of station.

“How was it?” her mother asked, not turning around.

“Fine,” Lena replied after a pause. It wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to explain.

“Anyone nice?”

“Not really. But I’ll manage.”

Clara nodded slightly, as if she understood her daughter needed time. In that silence, there was more understanding than words could hold. That evening, Lena stepped out onto the porch. The sun was setting behind the trees, and the air smelled of rain. She sat on the steps, wrapped in a blanket, and listened to the crickets beginning their nightly concert. This new life is quiet, she thought. Quieter than I expected. But maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. The house behind her slowly filled with warm light, and somewhere far away, a car disappeared down the road. There was something soothing in the loneliness, though she didn’t yet know that this was only the beginning of everything that was about to happen.